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THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL    OF 
A   GEORGIA    GIRL 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/wartimejournalofandr 


ELIZA   FRANCES   ANDREWS 
From   a   photograph   taken    in    1S65 


THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL    OF 
A    GEORGIA    GIRL 

1864-1865 


BY 
ELIZA  FRANCES  ANDREWS 


ILLUSTRATED     FROM 
CONTEMPORARY     PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW   YORK 

D.  APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

1908 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1908 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

Introduction 

I.    Across  Sherman's  Track 
II.    Plantation  Life       .... 

III.  A  Race  with  the  Enemy 

IV.  The  Passing  of  the  Confederacy 
V.    In  the  Dust  and  Ashes  of  Defeat 

VI.      FORESHADOWINGS   OF   THE    RACE    PROBLEM 

VII.    The  Prologue  to  Reconstruction   . 
Conclusion 


i 

19 

57 

129 

175 
218 
279 
336 
385 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

Eliza  Frances  Andrews    ....       Frontispiece 

Photograph  of  the  Original  Manuscript  of  the  Diary  22 

Metta  Andrews 44 

A  Group  of  Confederate  Children 80 

A  Belle  of  the  Confederacy  in  Evening  Dress        .         .  96 

From  Beyond  the  Blockade no 

Julia,  Daughter  of  Mrs.  Troup  Butler    .         .  .126 

War-time  Fashions 134 

Judge  Garnett  Andrews,  1827 176 

Mrs.  Garnett  Andrews,  nee  Annulet  Ball,  1827     .  180 

The  Old  Bank  Building  in  Washington,  Ga.,  1865        .  202 

Mrs.  Sarah  Ann   (Hoxey)   Brown 260 

A  Group  of  Confederate  Officers    .....  286 

A  Group  of  Confederate  Belles 298 

Survivors    of    Judge    Andrews's    Household    Servants, 

Photographed,    1903 348 

Haywood,   the  Old   Home  of  Judge  Garnett  Andrews, 

Erected  in  1794  or  1795 376 


THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL   OF    A 
GEORGIA   GIRL 

INTRODUCTION 

To  edit  oneself  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  half  a  century 
is  like  taking  an  appeal  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip 
sober.  The  changes  of  thought  and  feeling  between  the 
middle  of  the  nineteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  are  so  great  that  the  impulsive  young 
person  who  penned  the  following  record  and  the  white- 
haired  woman  who  edits  it,  are  no  more  the  same  than 
were  Philip  drunk  with  the  wine  of  youth  and  passion 
and  Philip  sobered  by  the  lessons  of  age  and  experi- 
ence. The  author's  lot  was  cast  amid  the  tempest  and 
fury  of  war,  and  if  her  utterances  are  sometimes  out 
of  accord  with  the  spirit  of  our  own  happier  time,  it 
is  because  she  belonged  to  an  era  which,  though 
but  of  yesterday,  as  men  count  the  ages  of  history,  is 
separated  from  our  own  by  a  social  and  intellectual 
chasm  as  broad  almost  as  the  lapse  of  a  thousand 
years.  In  the  lifetime  of  a  single  generation  the  peo- 
ple of  the  South  have  been  called  upon  to  pass  through 
changes  that  the  rest  of  the  world  has  taken  centuries 
to  accomplish.     The  distance  between  the  armor-clad 


2         THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

knight  at  Acre  and  the  "  embattled  farmers  "  at  Lex- 
ington is  hardly  greater  than  that  between  the  feudal 
aristocracy  which  dominated  Southern  sentiment  in 
i860,  and  the  commercial  plutocracy  that  rules  over 
the  destinies  of  the  nation  to-day. 

Never  was  there  an  aristocracy  so  compact,  so 
united,  so  powerful.  Out  of  a  population  of  some 
9,000,000  whites  that  peopled  the  Southern  States, 
according  to  the  census  of  1850,  only  about  300,000 
were  actual  slaveholders.  Less  than  3,000  of  these — 
men  owning,  say,  over  100  negroes  each,  constituted 
the  great  planter  class,  who,  with  a  small  proportion 
of  professional  and  business  men  affiliated  with  them 
in  culture  and  sympathies,  dominated  Southern  senti- 
ment and  for  years  dictated  the  policy  of  the  nation. 
The  more  prominent  families  all  over  the  country 
knew  each  other  by  reputation,  if  not  by  actual  contact, 
and  to  be  a  member  of  the  privileged  few  in  one  com- 
munity was  an  ex-oflicio  title  to  membership  in  all. 
To  use  a  modern  phrase,  we  were  intensely  "  class 
conscious "  and  this  brought  about  a  solidarity  of 
feeling  and  sentiment  almost  comparable  to  that  cre- 
ated by  family  ties.  Narrow  and  provincial  we  may 
have  been,  in  some  respects,  but  take  it  all  in  all,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  world  has  ever  produced  a  state 
of  society  more  rich  in  all  the  resources  for  a  thor- 
oughly wholesome,  happy,  and  joyous  life  than  ex- 
isted among  the  privileged  "  4,000  "  under  the  peculiar 
civilization  of  the  Old  South — a  civilization  which  has 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3 

served  its  purpose  in  the  evolution  of  the  race  and 
passed  away  forever.  So  completely  has  it  vanished 
that  the  very  language  in  which  we  used  .to  express 
ourselves  is  becoming  obsolete.  Many  of  our  house- 
hold words,  among  them  a  name  scarcely  less  dear 
than  "  mother,"  are  a  dead  language.  Others  have  a 
strangely  archaic  sound  to  modern  ears.  When  the 
diary  was  written,  women  were  still  regarded  as  "  fe- 
males," and  it  was  even  permissible  to  have  a  "  female 
acquaintance,"  or  a  "  male  friend,"  when  distinction 
of  sex  was  necessary,  without  being  relegated  forth- 
with to  the  ranks  of  the  ignobile  vulgus.  The  words 
"  lady  "  and  "  gentleman  "  had  not  yet  been  brought 
into  disrepute,  and  strangest  of  all,  to  modern  ears, 
the  word  "  rebel,"  now  so  bitterly  resented  as  casting 
a  stigma  on  the  Southern  cause,  is  used  throughout 
the  diary  as  a  term  of  pride  and  affectionate  endear- 
ment. 

It  is  for  the  sake  of  the  light  it  throws  on  the  inner 
life  of  this  unique  society  at  the  period  of  its  dissolu- 
tion— a  period  so  momentous  in  the  history  of  our 
country — that  this  contemporaneous  record  from  the 
pen  of  a  young  woman  in  private  life,  is  given  to  the 
public.  The  uncompromising  attitude  of  the  writer's 
father  against  secession  removed  him,  of  course,  from 
all  participation  in  the  political  and  official  life  of  the 
Confederacy,  and  so  this  volume  can  lay  claim  to  none 
of  the  dignity  which  attaches  to  the  utterances  of  one 
narrating  events  "  quorum  pars  magna  fui."     But  for 


4         THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

this  reason  its  testimony  will,  perhaps,  be  of  more 
value  to  the  student  of  social  conditions  than  if  it  dealt 
with  matters  pertaining  more  exclusively  to  the  domain 
of  history.  The  experiences  recounted  are  such  as 
might  have  come  at  that  time,  to  any  woman  of  good 
family  and  social  position;  the  feelings,  beliefs,  and 
prejudices  expressed  reflect  the  general  sentiment  of 
the  Southern  people  of  that  generation,  and  this  is  my 
apology  for  offering  them  to  the  public.  As  an  in- 
formal contemporaneous  record,  written  with  abso- 
lutely no  thought  of  ever  meeting  other  eyes  than  those 
of  the  author,  the  present  volume  can  claim  at  least  the 
merit  of  that  unpremeditated  realism  which  is  more 
valuable  as  a  picture  of  life  than  detailed  statistics  of 
battles  and  sieges.  The  chief  object  of  the  writer  in 
keeping  a  diary  was  to  cultivate  ease  of  style  by  daily 
exercise  in  rapid  composition,  and,  incidentally,  to 
preserve  a  record  of  personal  experiences  for  her  own 
convenience.  This  practice  was  kept  up  with  more  or 
less  regularity  for  about  ten  years,  but  the  bulk  of  the 
matter  so  produced  was  destroyed  at  various  times  in 
those  periodical  fits  of  disgust  and  self-abasement  that 
come  to  every  keeper  of  an  honest  diary  in  saner 
moments.  The  present  volume  was  rescued  from  a 
similar  fate  by  the  intercession  of  a  relative,  who  sug- 
gested that  the  period  dealt  with  was  one  of  such 
transcendent  interest,  embracing  the  last  months  of 
the  war  and  the  equally  stormy  times  immediately  fol- 
lowing, that  the  record  of  it  ought  to  be  preserved 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  5 

along  with  our  other  war  relics,  as  a  family  heirloom. 
So  little  importance  did  the  writer  attach  to  the  docu- 
ment even  then,  that  the  only  revision  made  in  chang- 
ing it  from  a  personal  to  a  family  history,  was  to  tear 
out  bodily  whole  paragraphs,  and  even  pages,  that 
were  considered  too  personal  for  other  eyes  than  her 
own.  In  this  way  the  manuscript  was  mutilated,  in 
some  places,  beyond  recovery.  The  frequent  hiatuses 
caused  by  these  elisions  are  marked  in  the  body  of  the 
work  by  the  usual  signs  of  ellipsis. 

The  original  manuscript  was  written  in  an  old  day- 
book fished  out  of  some  forgotten  corner  during  the 
war,  when  writing  paper  was  as  scarce  as  banknotes, 
and  almost  as  dear,  if  measured  in  Confederate  money. 
The  pale,  home-made  ink,  never  too  distinct,  at  best,  is 
faded  after  nearly  fifty  years,  to  a  light  ocher,  but 
little  darker  than  the  age-yellowed  paper  on  which  it 
was  inscribed.  Space  was  economized  and  paper 
saved  by  writing  between  the  closely-ruled  lines,  and 
in  a  hand  so  small  and  cramped  as  to  be  often  illegible, 
without  the  aid  of  a  lens.  The  manuscript  suffered 
many  vicissitudes,  the  sheets  having  been  torn  from 
the  covers  and  crumpled  into  the  smallest  possible  space 
for  better  concealment  in  times  of  emergency. 

As  a  discourager  of  self-conceit  there  is  nothing  like 
an  old  diary,  and  I  suppose  no  one  ever  knows  what 
a  full-blown  idiot  he  or  she  is  capable  of  being,  who 
has  not  kept  such  a  living  record  against  himself.  This 
being  the  case,  the  gray-haired  editor  may  be  pardoned 


6         THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

a  natural  averseness  to  the  publication  of  anything 
that  would  too  emphatically  "  write  me  down  an  ass  " 
— to  borrow  from  our  friend  Dogberry — though  I 
fear  that  in  some  of  the  matter  retained  in  the 
interest  of  truth,  I  have  come  perilously  near  to  that 
alternative. 

But  while  the  "  blue  line  "  has  been  freely  used,  as 
was  indispensable  in  an  intimate  private  chronicle  of 
this  sort,  it  has  not  been  allowed  to  interfere  in  any 
way  with  the  fidelity  of  the  narrative.  Matter  strictly 
personal  to  the  writer — tiresome  reflections,  silly  flirta- 
tions, and  the  like — has  been  omitted,  and  thoughtless 
criticisms  and  other  expressions  that  might  wound  the 
feelings  of  persons  now  living,  have  been  left  out  or 
toned  down.  Connectives,  or  other  words  are  sup- 
plied where  necessary  for  clearness;  where  more  par- 
ticular information  is  called  for,  it  is  given  in  paren- 
theses, or  in  the  explanatory  notes  at  the  heads  of  the 
chapters.  Even  the  natural  temptation  to  correct  an 
occasional  lapse  into  local  barbarisms,  such  as  "  like  " 
for  "  as,"  "  don't "  for  "  doesn't,"  or  the  still  more 
unpardonable  offense  of  applying  the  terms  "  male  " 
and  "  female  "  to  objects  of  their  respective  genders, 
has  been  resisted  for  fear  of  altering  the  spirit  of  the 
narrative  by  too  much  tampering  with  the  letter.  For 
the  same  reason  certain  palpable  errors  and  misstate- 
ments, unless  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  a 
note,  have  been  left  unchanged — for  instance,  the 
absurd  classing  of  B.  F.  Butler  with  General  Sherman 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  7 

as  a  degenerate  West  Pointer,  or  the  confusion  be- 
tween fuit  Ilium  and  ubi  Troja  fuit  that  resulted  in 
the  misquotation  on  page  190.  For  my  "  small  Latin," 
I  have  no  excuse  to  offer  except  that  I  had  never  been 
a  school  teacher  then,  and  could  enjoy  the  bliss  of  igno- 
rance without  a  blush.  As  to  the  implied  reflection 
on  West  Point,  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  knew  any 
better  at  the  time,  or  not.  Probably  I  did,  as  I  lived 
in  a  well-informed  circle,  but  my  excited  brain  was  so 
occupied  at  the  moment  with  thoughts  of  the  general 
depravity  of  those  dreadful  Yankees,  that  there  was 
not  room  for  another  idea  in  it. 

Throughout  the  work  none  but  real  names  are  em- 
ployed, with  the  single  exception  noted  on  page  105. 
In  extenuation  of  this  gentleman's  bibulous  propensi- 
ties, it  must  be  remembered  that  such  practices  were 
much  more  common  in  those  days  than  now,  and  were 
regarded  much  more  leniently.  In  fact,  I  have  been 
both  surprised  and  shocked  in  reading  over  this  story 
of  a  bygone  generation,  to  see  how  prevalent  was  the 
use  of  wines  and  other  alcoholic  liquors,  anal  how 
lightly  an  occasional  over-indulgence  was  regarded. 
In  this  respect  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  world 
has  changed  greatly  for  the  better.  When  "  gentle- 
men," as  we  were  not  afraid  to  call  our  men  guests 
in  those  days,  were  staying  in  the  house,  it  was  a  com- 
mon courtesy  to  place  a  bottle  of  wine,  or  brandy,  or 
both,  with  the  proper  adjuncts,  in  the  room  of  each 
guest,  so  that  he  might  help  himself  to  a  "  night-cap  " 


8         THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

on  going  to  bed,  or  an  "  eye-opener  "  before  getting 
up  in  the  morning.  It  must  also  be  taken  into  account 
that  at  this  particular  time  men  everywhere  were 
ruined,  desperate,  their  occupation  gone,  their  future 
without  hope,  the  present  without  resources,  so  that 
they  were  ready  to  catch  at  any  means  for  diverting 
their  thoughts  from  the  ruin  that  enveloped  them. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  thoughtless  gayety  among 
the  young  people  during  the  dark  days  preceding  the 
close;  it  was  a  case  of  "  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for 
to-morrow  we  die." 

In  the  desire  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible  any  unneces- 
sary tampering  with  the  original  manuscript,  passages 
expressive  of  the  animosities  of  the  time,  which  the 
author  would  be  glad  to  blot  out  forever,  have  been 
allowed  to  stand  unaltered — not  as  representing  the 
present  feeling  of  the  writer  or  her  people,  but  because 
they  do  represent  our  feelings  forty  years  ago,  and  to 
suppress  them  entirely,  would  be  to  falsify  the  record. 
While  recognizing  the  bad  taste  of  many  of  these 
utterances,  which  "  Philip  sober  "  would  now  be  the 
first  to  repudiate,  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  has 
no  right  to  speak  for  "  Philip  drunk,"  or  to  read  his 
own  present  feelings  into  the  mind  of  his  predecessor. 
The  diary  was  written  in  a  time  of  storm  and  tempest, 
of  bitter  hatreds  and  fierce  animosities,  and  its  pages 
are  so  saturated  with  the  spirit  of  the  time,  that  to 
attempt  to  banish  it  would  be  like  giving  the  play  of 
Hamlet  without  the  title-role.     It  does  not  pretend  to 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  9 

give  the  calm  reflections  of  a  philosopher  looking  back 
dispassionately  upon  the  storms  of  his  youth,  but  the 
passionate  utterances  of  stormy  youth  itself.  It  is  in 
no  sense  a  history,  but  a  mere  series  of  crude  pen- 
sketches,  faulty,  inaccurate,  and  out  of  perspective,  it 
may  be,  but  still  a  true  picture  of  things  as  the  writer 
saw  them.  It  makes  no  claim  to  impartiality;  on  the 
contrary,  the  author  frankly  admits  that  it  is  violently 
and  often  absurdly  partisan — and  it  could  not  well 
have  been  otherwise  under  the  circumstances.  Com- 
ing from  a  heart  ablaze  with  the  passionate  re- 
sentment of  a  people  smarting  under  the  humiliation 
of  defeat,  it  was  inevitable  that  along  with  the  just 
indignation  at  wrongs  which  ought  never  to  have  been 
committed,  there  should  have  crept  in  many  intem- 
perate and  indiscriminate  denunciations  of  acts  which 
the  writer  did  not  understand,  to  say  nothing  of  sopho- 
morical  vaporings  calculated  now  only  to  excite  a  smile. 
Such  expressions,  however,  are  not  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously at  the  present  day,  but  are  rather  to  be  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  fossil  curiosities  that  have  the  same  value 
in  throwing  light  on  the  psychology  of  the  period  to 
which  they  belong  as  the  relics  preserved  in  our 
geological  museums  have  in  illustrating  the  physical 
life  of  the  past.  Revolutions  never  take  place  when 
people  are  cool-headed  or  in  a  serene  frame  of  mind, 
and  it  would  be  as  dishonest  as  it  is  foolish  to  deny 
that  such  bitternesses  ever  existed.  The  better  way 
is  to  cast  them  behind  us  and  thank  the  powers  of  the 


io       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

universe  that  they  exist  no  longer.  I  cannot  better 
express  this  feeling  than  in  the  words  of  an  old  Con- 
federate soldier  at  Petersburg,  Va.,  where  he  had  gone 
with  a  number  of  his  comrades  who  had  been  attending 
the  great  reunion  at  Richmond,  to  visit  the  scene  of 
their  last  struggles  under  "  Marse  Robert."  They 
were  standing  looking  down  into  the  Crater,  that  awful 
pit  of  death,  lined  now  with  daisies  and  buttercups, 
and  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  spring.  Tall  pines, 
whose  lusty  young  roots  had  fed  on  the  hearts  of  dead 
men,  were  waving  softly  overhead,  and  nature  every- 
where had  covered  up  the  scars  of  war  with  the  mantle 
of  smiling  peace.  I  paused,  too,  to  watch  them,  and 
we  all  stood  there  awed  into  silence,  till  at  last  an  old 
battle-scarred  hero  from  one  of  the  wiregrass  counties 
way  down  in  Georgia,  suddenly  raised  his  hands  to 
heaven,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emo- 
tion :  "  Thar's  three  hundred  dead  Yankees  buried 
here  under  our  feet.  I  helped  to  put  'em  thar,  but  so 
help  me  God,  I  hope  the  like  '11  never  be  done  in  this 
country  again.  Slavery's  gone  and  the  war's  over 
now,  thank  God  for  both!  We  are  all  brothers  once 
more,  and  I  can  feel  for  them  lay  in'  down  thar  just 
the  same  as  fur  our  own." 

That  is  the  sentiment  of  the  new  South  and  of  the 
few  of  us  who  survive  from  the  old.  We  look  back 
with  loving  memory  upon  our  past,  as  we  look  upon 
the  grave  of  the  beloved  dead  whom  we  mourn  but 
would  not  recall.     We  glorify  the  men  and  the  memo- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  n 

ries  of  those  days  and  would  have  the  coming  genera- 
tions draw  inspiration  from  them.  We  teach  the  chil- 
dren of  the  South  to  honor  and  revere  the  civilization 
of  their  fathers,  which  we  believe  has  perished  not 
because  it  was  evil  or  vicious  in  itself,  but  because,  like 
a  good  and  useful  man  who  has  lived  out  his  allotted 
time  and  gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth,  it  too  has 
served  its  turn  and  must  now  lie  in  the  grave  of  the 
dead  past.  The  Old  South,  with  its  stately  feudal 
regime,  was  not  the  monstrosity  that  some  would  have 
us  believe,  but  merely  a  case  of  belated  survival,  like 
those  giant  sequoias  of  the  Pacific  slope  that  have 
lingered  on  from  age  to  age,  and  are  now  left  standing 
alone  in  a  changed  world.  Like  every  civilization  that 
has  yet  been  known  since  the  primitive  patriarchal 
stage,  it  was  framed  in  the  interest  of  a  ruling  class; 
and  as  has  always  been,  and  always  will  be  the  case 
until  mankind  shall  have  become  wise  enough  to  evolve 
a  civilization  based  on  the  interests  of  all,  it  was 
doomed  to  pass  away  whenever  changed  conditions 
transferred  to  another  class  the  economic  advantage 
that  is  the  basis  of  all  power.  It  had  outlived  its  day 
of  usefulness  and  was  an  anachronism  in  the  end  of 
the  nineteenth  century — the  last  representative  of  an 
economic  system  that  had  served  the  purposes  of  the 
race  since  the  days  when  man  first  emerged  from  his 
prehuman  state  until  the  rise  of  the  modern  industrial 
system  made  wage  slavery  a  more  efficient  agent  of 
production  than  chattel  slavery. 


12       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

It  is  as  unfair  to  lay  all  the  onus  of  that  institution 
on  the  Southern  States  of  America  as  it  would  be  to 
charge  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  with  the  odium  of 
all  the  religious  persecutions  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries.  The  spirit  of  intolerance  was 
in  the  air;  everybody  persecuted  that  got  the  chance, 
even  the  saints  of  Plymouth  Rock,  and  the  Catholics 
did  the  lion's  share  only  because  there  were  more  of 
them  to  do  it,  and  they  had  more  power  than  our 
Protestant  forefathers. 

In  like  manner,  the  spirit  of  chattel  slavery  was»in 
the  race,  possibly  from  its  prehuman  stage,  and 
through  all  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  that  it 
has  been  painfully  traveling  from  that  humble  begin- 
ning toward  the  still  far-off  goal  of  the  superhuman, 
not  one  branch  of  it  has  ever  awakened  to  a  sense  of 
the  moral  obliquity  of  the  practice  till  its  industrial 
condition  had  reached  a  stage  in  which  that  system 
was  less  profitable  than  wage  slavery.  Then,  as  the 
ethical  sentiments  are  prone  to  follow  closely  the  line 
of  economic  necessity,  the  conscience  of  those  nations 
which  had  adopted  the  new  industrialism  began  to 
awaken  to  a  perception  of  the  immorality  of  chattel 
slavery.  Our  Southern  States,  being  still  in  the  agri- 
cultural stage,  on  account  of  our  practical  monopoly  of 
the  world's  chief  textile  staple,  were  the  last  of  the 
great  civilized  nations  to  find  chattel  slavery  less 
profitable  than  wage  slavery,  and  hence  the  "  great 
moral  crusade  "  of  the  North  against  the  perverse  and 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  13 

unregenerate  South.  It  was  a  pure  case  of  economic 
determinism,  which  means  that  our  great  moral  con- 
flict reduces  itself,  in  the  last  analysis,  to  a  question 
of  dollars  and  cents,  though  the  real  issue  was  so 
obscured  by  other  considerations  that  we  of  the  South 
honestly  believe  to  this  day  that  we  were  fighting  for 
States  Rights,  while  the  North  is  equally  honest  in 
the  conviction  that  it  was  engaged  in  a  magnanimous 
struggle  to  free  the  slave. 

It  is  only  fair  to  explain  here  that  the  action  of  the 
principle  of  economic  determinism  does  not  imply  by 
any  means  that  the  people  affected  by  it  are  necessarily 
insincere  or  hypocritical.  As  enunicated  by  Karl 
Marx,  under  the  cumbrous  and  misleading  title  of  "  the 
materialistic  interpretation  of  history,"  it  means  sim- 
ply that  the  economic  factor  plays  the  same  part  in  the 
social  evolution  of  the  race  that  natural  selection  and 
the  survival  of  the  fittest  are  supposed  to  play  in  its 
physical  evolution.  The  influence  of  this  factor  is 
generally  so  subtle  and  indirect  that  we  are  totally 
unconscious  of  it.  If  I  may  be  pardoned  an  illustra- 
tion from  my  own  experience,  I  remember  perfectly 
well  when  I  myself  honestly  and  conscientiously  be- 
lieved the  institution  of  slavery  to  be  as  just  and  sacred 
as  I  now  hold  it  to  be  the  reverse.  It  was  according 
to  the  Bible,  and  to  question  it  was  impious  and 
savored  of  "  infidelity."  Most  of  my  contemporaries 
would  probably  give  a  similar  experience.  Not  one  of 
us  now  but  would  look  upon  a  return  to  slavery  with 


14       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

horror,  and  yet  not  one  of  us  probably  is  conscious  of 
ever  having  been  influenced  by  the  economic  factor ! 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  the  transition  from 
chattel  to  wage  slavery  was  the  next  step  forward  in 
the  evolution  of  the  race,  just  as  the  transition  from 
wage  slavery  to  free  and  independent  labor  will  be  the 
next.  Some  of  us,  who  see  our  own  economic  ad- 
vantage more  or  less  clearly  in  this  transformation, 
and  others  who  do  not  see  it  so  clearly  as  they  see  the 
evils  of  the  present  system,  are  working  for  the  change 
with  the  zeal  of  religious  enthusiasts,  while  the  capi- 
talists and  their  retainers  are  fighting  against  it  with 
the  desperation  of  the  old  Southern  slaveholder  against 
the  abolitionist.  But  here,  in  justice  to  the  South- 
erner, the  comparison  must  end.  He  fought  a  losing 
battle,  but  he  fought  it  honestly  and  bravely,  in  the 
open — not  by  secret  fraud  and  cunning.  His  cause 
was  doomed  from  the  first  by  a  law  as  inexorable  as 
the  one  pronounced  by  the  fates  against  Troy,  but  he 
fought  with  a  valor  and  heroism  that  have  made  a 
lost  cause  forever  glorious.  He  saw  the  civil  fabric 
his  fathers  had  reared  go  down  in  a  mighty  cataclysm 
of  blood  and  fire,  a  tragedy  for  all  the  ages — but  better 
so  than  to  have  perished  by  slow  decay  through  ages 
of  sloth  and  rottenness,  as  so  many  other  great  civiliza- 
tions of  history  have  done,  leaving  only  a  debased  and 
degenerate  race  behind  them.  It  was  a  mediaeval  civi- 
lization, out  of  accord  with  the  modern  tenor  of  our 
time,  and  it  had  to  go;  but  if  it  stood  for  some  out- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  15 

worn  customs  that  should  rightly  be  sent  to  the  dust 
heap,  it  stood  for  some  things,  also,  that  the  world  can 
ill  afford  to  lose.  It  stood  -for  gentle  courtesy,  for 
knightly  honor,  for  generous  hospitality;  it  stood  for 
fair  and  honest  dealing  of  man  with  man  in  the  com- 
mon business  of  life,  for  lofty  scorn  of  cunning  greed 
and  ill-gotten  gain  through  fraud  and  deception  of 
our  fellowmen — lessons  which  the  founders  of  our 
New  South  would  do  well  to  lay  to  heart. 

And  now  I  have  just  a  word  to  say  on  a  personal 
matter — a  solemn  amende  to  make  to  the  memory  of 
my  dear  father,  to  whose  unflinching  devotion  to  the 
Union  these  pages  will  bear  ample  testimony.  While 
I  have  never  been  able  to  bring  myself  to  repent  of 
having  sided  with  my  own  people,  I  have  repented  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  for  the  perverse  and  rebellious 
spirit  so  often  manifested  against  him.  How  it 
was  that  the  influence  of  such  a  parent,  whom  we  all 
loved  and  honored,  should  have  failed  to  convert  his 
own  children  to  his  way  of  thinking,  I  do  not  myself 
understand,  unless  it  was  the  contagion  of  the  general 
enthusiasm  around  us.  Youth  is  impulsive,  and  prone 
to  run  with  the  crowd.  We  caught  the  infection  of 
the  war  spirit  in  the  air  and  never  stopped  to  reason 
or  to  think.  And  then,  there  were  our  soldier  boys. 
With  my  three  brothers  in  the  army,  and  that  glorious 
record  of  Lee  and  his  men  in  Virginia,  how  was  it 
possible  not  to  throw  oneself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
cause  for  which  they  were  fighting  so  gallantly  ?     And 


16       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

when  the  bitter  end  came,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
if  our  resentment  against  those  who  had  brought  all 
these  humiliations  and  disasters  upon  us  should  flame 
up  fiercer  than  ever.  In  the  expression  of  these  feel- 
ings we  sometimes  forgot  the  respect  due  to  our 
father's  opinions  and  brought  on  scenes  that  were  not 
conducive  to  the  peace  of  the  family.  These  lapses 
were  generally  followed  by  fits  of  repentance  on  the 
part  of  the  offender,  but  as  they  led  to  no  permanent 
amendment  of  our  ways,  I  am  afraid,  that  first  and 
last,  we  made  the  old  gentleman's  life  a  burden  to 
him.  In  looking  back  over  the  sufferings  and  disap- 
pointments of  those  dreadful  years  the  most  pathetic 
figure  that  presents  itself  to  my  memory  is  that  of  my 
dear  old  father,  standing  unmoved  by  all  the  clamor 
of  the  times  and  the  waywardness  of  his  children,  in 
his  devotion  to  the  great  republic  that  his  father  had 
fought  for  at  Yorktown.  I  can  see  now,  what  I  could 
not  realize  then,  that  the  Union  men  in  the  South — the 
honest  ones,  I  mean,  like  my  father — sacrificed  even 
more  for  their  cause  than  we  of  the  other  side  did  for 
ours.  These  men  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the 
scalawags  and  traitors  who  joined  the  carpet-baggers 
in  plundering  their  country.  They  were  gentlemen,  and 
most  of  them  slaveholders,  who  stood  by  the  Union, 
not  because  they  were  in  any  sense  Northern  sympa- 
thizers, but  because  they  saw  in  division  death  for  the 
South,  and  believed  that  in  saving  her  to  the  Union 
they  were  saving  her  to  herself.     They  suffered  not 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  17 

only  the  material  losses  of  the  war,  but  the  odium  their 
opinions  excited;  and  worst  of  all,  the  blank  disillusion- 
ment that  must  have  come  to  them  when  they  saw 
their  beloved  Union  restored  only  to  bring  about  the 
riot  and  shame  of  Reconstruction.  My  father  died 
before  the  horrors  of  that  period  had  passed  away; 
before  the  strife  and  hatred  he  so  bitterly  deplored 
had  begun  to  subside;  before  he  could  have  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  his  grandson  fighting  under  the  old 
flag  that  his  father  had  followed  and  that  his  sons  had 
repudiated.  Which  of  us  was  right?  which  was 
wrong?  I  am  no  Daniel  come  to  judgment,  and  hap- 
pily, there  is  in  my  mind  no  reason  to  brand  either  side 
as  wrong.  In  the  clearer  understanding  that  we  now 
have  of  the  laws  of  historical  evolution,  we  know  that 
both  were  right,  for  both  were  struggling  blindly  and 
unconsciously  in  the  grasp  of  economic  tendencies 
they  did  not  understand,  towards  a  consummation  they 
could  not  foresee.  Both  were  helpless  instruments  of 
those  forces  that  were  hurrying  our  nation  forward 
another  step  in  its  evolutionary  progress,  and  whatever 
of  praise  or  blame  may  attach  to  either  side  for  their 
methods  of  carrying  on  the  struggle,  the  result  belongs 
to  neither;  it  was  simply  the  working  out  of  that 
natural  law  of  economic  determinism  which  lies  at  the 
root  of  all  the  great  struggles  of  history. 

And  now  that  we  have  learned  wisdom  through 
suffering;  now  that  we  have  seen  how  much  more  can 
be  accomplished  by  peaceful  cooperation  under  the  safe 


i8        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

guidance  of  natural  laws,  than  by  wasteful  violence, 
we  are  prepared  to  take  our  part  intelligently  in  the 
next  great  forward  movement  of  the  race — a  move- 
ment having  for  its  object  not  merely  a  closer  union 
of  kindred  states,  but  that  grander  union  dreamed  of 
by  the  poet,  which  is  to  find  its  consummation  in 
"  The  parliament  of  man,  the  federation  of  the  world." 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  19 


CHAPTER  I 

across  Sherman's  track 

December  19-24,   1864 

Explanatory  Note. — At  the  time  of  this  narrative,  the 
writer's  eldest  sister,  Mrs.  Troup  Butler,  was  living  alone 
with  her  two  little  children  on  a  plantation  in  Southwest 
Georgia,  between  Albany  and  Thomasville.  Besides  our 
father,  who  was  sixty-two  when  the  war  began,  and  a 
little  brother  who  was  only  twelve  when  it  closed,  we 
had  no  male  relations  out  of  the  army,  and  she  lived  there 
with  no  other  protector,  for  a  good  part  of  the  time,  than 
the  negroes  themselves.  There  were  not  over  a  hundred 
of  them  on  the  place,  and  though  they  were  faithful,  and 
nobody  ever  thought  of  being  afraid  on  their  account,  it 
was  lonely  for  her  to  be  there  among  them  with  no  other 
white  person  than  the  overseer,  and  so  the  writer  and  a 
younger  sister,  Metta,  were  usually  sent  to  be  her  com- 
panions during  the  winter.  The  summers  she  spent  with 
us  at  the  old  home. 

But  in  the  fall  of  1864,  while  Sherman's  army  was 
lying  around  Atlanta  like  a  pent-up  torrent  ready  to  burst 
forth  at  any  moment,  my  father  was  afraid  to  let  us  get 
out  of  his  sight,  and  we  all  stood  waiting  in  our  defense- 
less homes  till  we  could  see  what  course  the  destroying 
flood  would  take.  Happily  for  us  it  passed  by  without 
engulfing  the  little  town  of  Washington,  where  our  home 
was  situated,  and  after  it  had  swept  over  the  capital  of 
the  State,  reaching  Milledgeville  November  23d,  rolled 


20       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

on  toward  Savannah,  where  the  sound  of  merry  Christmas 
bells  was  hushed  by  the  roar  of  its  angry  waters. 

Meanwhile  the  people  in  our  part  of  Georgia  had  had 
time  to  get  their  breath  once  more,  and  began  to  look 
about  for  some  way  of  bridging  the  gap  of  ruin  and  deso- 
lation that  stretched  through  the  entire  length  of  our 
State.  The  Georgia  Railroad,  running  from  Atlanta  to 
Augusta,  had  been  destroyed  to  the  north  of  us,  and  the 
Central  of  Georgia,  from  Macon  to  Savannah,  was  intact 
for  only  sixteen  miles ;  that  part  of  the  track  connecting 
the  former  city  with  the  little  station  of  Gordon  having 
lain  beyond  the  path  of  the  invaders.  By  taking  advan- 
tage of  this  fragment,  and  of  some  twelve  miles  of  track 
that  had  been  laid  from  Camack,  a  station  on  the  unin- 
jured part  of  the  Georgia  railroad,  to  Mayfield,  on  what 
is  now  known  as  the  Macon  branch  of  the  Georgia,  the 
distance  across  country  could  be  shortened  by  twenty-five 
miles,  and  the  wagon  road  between  these  two  points  at 
once  became  a  great  national  thoroughfare. 

By  the  middle  of  December,  communication,  though 
subject  to  many  difficulties  and  discomforts,  was  so  well 
established  that  my  father  concluded  it  would  be  prac- 
ticable for  us  to  make  the  journey  to  our  sister.  We  were 
eager  to  go,  and  would  be  safer,  he  thought,  when  once 
across  the  line,  than  at  home.  Sherman  had  industriously 
spread  the  impression  that  his  next  move  would  be  on 
either  Charleston  or  Augusta,  and  in  the  latter  event,  our 
home  would  be  in  the  line  of  danger.  Southwest  Georgia 
was  at  that  time  a  "  Land  of  Goshen  "  and  a  "  city  of 
refuge  "  to  harassed  Confederates.  Thus  far  it  had  never 
been  seriously  threatened  by  the  enemy,  and  was  supposed 
to  be  the  last  spot  in  the  Confederacy  on  which  he  would 
ever  set  foot — and  this,  in  the  end,  proved  to  be  not  far 
from  the  truth. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  21 

So  then,  after  careful  consultation  with  my  oldest 
brother,  Fred,  at  that  time  commandant  of  the  Georgia 
camp  of  instruction  for  conscripts,  in  Macon,  we  set  out 
under  the  protection  of  a  reliable  man  whom  my  brother 
detailed  to  take  care  of  us.  It  may  seem  strange  to 
modern  readers  that  two  young  women  should  have  been 
sent  off  on  such  a  journey  with  no  companion  of  their 
own  sex,  but  the  exigencies  of  the  times  did  away  with 
many  conventions.  Then,  too,  the  exquisite  courtesy  and 
deference  of  the  Southern  men  of  that  day  toward 
women  made  the  chaperon  a  person  of  secondary  im- 
portance among  us.  It  was  the  "  male  protector  "  who 
was  indispensable.  I  have  known  matrons  of  forty 
wait  for  weeks  on  the  movements  of  some  male  acquaint- 
ance rather  than  take  the  railroad  journey  of  fifty  miles 
from  our  village  to  Augusta,  alone;  and  when  I  was  sent 
off  to  boarding  school,  I  remember,  the  great  desideratum 
was  to  find  some  man  who  would  pilot  me  safely  through 
the  awful  difficulties  of  a  railroad  journey  of  200  miles. 
Women,  young  or  old,  were  intrusted  to  the  care  of  any 
man  known  to  their  family  as  a  gentleman,  with  a  con- 
fidence as  beautiful  as  the  loyalty  that  inspired  it.  Under 
no  other  social  regime,  probably,  have  young  girls  been 
allowed  such  liberty  of  intercourse  with  the  other  sex  as 
were  those  of  the  Old  South — a  liberty  which  the  notable 
absence  of  scandals  and  divorces  in  that  society  goes 
far  to  justify. 

Dec.  24,  1864,  Saturday. — Here  we  are  in  Macon 
at  last,  and  this  is  the  first  chance  I  have  had  at 
my  journal  since  we  left  home  last  Monday.  Father 
went  with  us  to  Barnett,  and  then  turned  us  over  to 
Fred,  who  had  come  up  from  Augusta  to  meet  us  and 


22       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

travel  with  us  as  far  as  Mayfield.  At  Camack,  where 
we  changed  cars,  we  found  the  train  literally  crammed 
with  people  going  on  the  same  journey  with  ourselves. 
Since  the  destruction  of  the  Georgia,  the  Macon  & 
Western,  and  the  Central  railroads  by  Sherman's 
army,  the  whole  tide  of  travel  between  the  eastern  and 
western  portions  of  our  poor  little  Confederacy  flows 
across  the  country  from  Mayfield  to  Gordon.  Mett 
and  I,  with  two  other  ladies,  whom  we  found  on  the 
train  at  Camack,  were  the  first  to  venture  across  the 
gap — 65  miles  of  bad  roads  and  worse  conveyances, 
through  a  country  devastated  by  the  most  cruel  and 
wicked  invasion  of  modern  times. 

As  we  entered  the  crowded  car,  two  young  officers 
gave  up  their  seats  to  us  and  saw  that  we  were  made 
comfortable  while  Fred  was  out  looking  after  the 
baggage.  Near  us  sat  a  handsome  middle-aged  gen- 
tleman in  the  uniform  of  a  colonel,  with  a  pretty  young 
girl  beside  him,  whom  we  at  once  spotted  as  his  bride. 
They  were  surrounded  by  a  number  of  officers,  and 
the  bride  greatly  amused  us,  in  the  snatches  of  their 
conversation  we  overheard,  by  her  extreme  bookish- 
ness.  She  was  clearly  just  out  of  school.  The  only 
other  lady  on  the  car  was  closely  occupied  with  the 
care  of  her  husband,  a  wounded  Confederate  officer, 
whom  we  afterwards  learned  was  Maj.  Bonham,  of 
South  Carolina. 

It  is  only  eleven  miles  from  Camack  to  Mayfield, 
but  the  road  was  so  bad  and  the  train  so  heavy  that 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  23 

we  were  nearly  two  hours  in  making  the  distance. 
Some  of  the  seats  were  without  backs  and  some  with- 
out bottoms,  and  the  roadbed  so  uneven  that  in  places 
the  car  tilted  from  side  to  side  as  if  it  was  going  to 
upset  and  spill  us  all  out.  We  ate  dinner  on  the  cars 
— that  is,  Fred  ate,  while  Metta  and  I  were  watching 
the  people.  The  weather  was  very  hot,  and  I  sweltered 
like  a  steam  engine  under  the  overload  of  clothing  I 
had  put  on  to  save  room  in  my  trunk.  t  At  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  we  reached  Mayfield,  a  solitary  shanty 
at  the  present  terminus  of  the  R.R.  Fred  had  sent 
Mr.  Belisle,  one  of  his  men,  ahead  to  engage  a  con- 
veyance, and  he  met  us  with  a  little  spring  wagon, 
which  he  said  would  take  us  on  to  Sparta  that  night 
for  forty  dollars.  It  had  no  top,  but  was  the  choice 
of  all  the  vehicles  there,  for  it  had  springs,  of  which 
none  of  the  others  could  boast.  There  was  the  mail 
hack,  which  had  the  advantage  of  a  cover,  but  could 
not  carry  our  trunks,  and  really  looked  as  if  it  were  too 
decrepit  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  mail  bags.  We 
mounted  our  little  wagon,  and  the  others  were  soon  all 
filled  so  full  that  they  looked  like  delegations  from  the 
old  woman  that  lived  in  a  shoe,  and  crowds  of  pedes- 
trians, unable  to  find  a  sticking  place  on  tongue  or 
axle,  plodded  along  on  foot.  The  colonel  and  his 
wife  were  about  to  get  into  a  rough  old  plantation 
wagon,  already  overloaded,  but  Fred  said  she  was  too 
pretty  to  ride  in  such  a  rattle-trap,  and  offered  her  a 
seat  in  ours,   which  was  gladly  accepted.     We  also 


24       THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

made  room  for  Dr.  Shine,  one  of  the  officers  of  their 
party,  who,  we  afterwards  found  out,  was  a  friend  of 
Belle   Randolph. 

About  a  mile  from  Mayfield  we  stopped  at  a  forlorn 
country  tavern,  where  Fred  turned  us  over  to  Mr. 
Belisle,  and  went  in  to  spend  the  night  there,  so  as  to 
return  to  Augusta  by  the  next  train.  I  felt  rather 
desolate  after  his  departure,  but  we  soon  got  into 
conversation  with  the  colonel  and  his  bride,  the  gentle- 
men who  were  following  on  foot  joined  in,  and  we 
sang  rebel  songs  and  became  very  sociable  together. 
We  had  not  gone  far  when  big  drops  of  rain  began 
to  fall  from  an  angry  black  cloud  that  had  been  gradu- 
ally creeping  upon  us  from  the  northwest.  The  bride 
raised  a  little  fancy  silk  parasol  that  made  the  rest 
of  us  laugh,  while  Metta  and  I  took  off  our  hats  and 
began  to  draw  on  shawls  and  hoods,  and  a  young 
captain,  who  was  plodding  on  foot  behind  us,  hastened 
to  offer  his  overcoat.  When  we  found  that  he  had  a 
wounded  arm,  disabled  by  a  Yankee  bullet,  we  tried 
to  make  room  for  him  in  the  wagon,  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  squeeze  another  person  into  it.  Ralph,  the 
driver,  had  been  turned  afoot  to  make  room  for  Dr. 
Shine,  and  was  walking  ahead  to  act  as  guide  in  the 
darkness. 

Just  after  nightfall  we  came  to  a  public  house  five 
miles  from  Sparta,  where  the  old  man  lives  from 
whom  our  wagons  were  hired,  and  we  stopped  to  pay 
our  fare  and  get  supper,  if  anybody  wanted  it.     He 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  25 

is  said  to  be  fabulously  rich,  and  owns  all  the  land  for 
miles  around,  but  he  don't  live  like  it.  He  is  palsied 
and  bed-ridden,  but  so  eager  after  money  that  guests 
are  led  to  his  bedside  to  pay  their  reckoning  into  his 
own  hands.  Mett  and  I  staid  in  the  wagon  and  sent 
Mr.  Belisle  to  settle  for  us,  but  the  gentlemen  of  our 
party  who  went  in,  said  it  was  dreadful  to  see  how  his 
trembling  old  fingers  would  clutch  at  the  bills  they  paid 
him,  and  the  suspicious  looks  he  would  cast  around  to 
make  sure  he  was  not  being  cheated.  They  could  talk 
of  nothing  else  for  some  time  after  they  came  out. 
We  stopped  at  this  place  nearly  an  hour,  while  the 
horses  were  being  changed  and  the  drivers  getting  their 
supper.  There  was  a  fine  grove  around  the  house,  but 
the  wind  made  a  dismal  howling  among  the  branches, 
and  ominous  mutterings  of  distant  thunder  added  to 
our  uneasiness.  Large  fires  were  burning  in  front  of 
the  stables  and  threw  a  weird  glare  upon  the  groups  of 
tired  soldiers  gathered  round  them,  smoking  their  pipes 
and  cooking  their  scanty  rations,  and  the  flashing  uni- 
forms of  Confederate  officers,  hurrying  in  and  out, 
added  to  the  liveliness  of  the  scene.  Many  of  them 
came  to  our  wagon  to  see  if  they  could  do  anything  for 
us,  and  their  presence,  brave  fellows,  gave  me  a  com- 
fortable feeling  of  safety  and  protection.  Dr.  Shine 
brought  us  a  toddy,  and  the  colonel  and  the  captain 
would  have  smothered  us  under  overcoats  and  army 
blankets  if  we  had  let  them. 

When  the  horses  were  ready,  we  jogged  on  again 
3 


26        THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

towards  Sparta,  which  seemed  to  recede  as  we  ad- 
vanced. Dr.  Shine,  who  was  driving,  didn't  know 
the  road,  and  had  to  guide  the  horses  by  Ralph's  direc- 
tion as  he  walked  ahead  and  sung  out :  "  Now,  pull  to 
de  right!"  "Now,  go  straight  ahead!"  "Take 
keer,  marster,  dar's  a  bad  hole  ter  yo'  lef ,"  and  so  on, 
till  all  at  once  the  long-threatened  rain  began  to  pour 
down,  and  everything  was  in  confusion.  Somebody 
cried  out  in  the  darkness;  "  Confound  Sparta!  will  we 
never  get  there  ?  "  and  Ralph  made  us  all  laugh  again 
with  his  answer : 

"  Yessir,  yessir,  we's  right  in  de  subjues  er  de  town 
now."  And  sure  enough,  the  next  turn  in  the  road 
revealed  the  lights  of  the  village  glimmering  before 
us.  We  drove  directly  to  Mr.  William  Simpson's, 
and  when  Metta  and  I  had  gotten  out,  the  wagon  went 
on  with  its  other  passengers  to  the  hotel.  We  met 
with  such  a  hearty  reception  from  Belle  and  her  mother 
that  for  the  moment  all  our  troubles  were  forgotten. 
A  big.  cheerful  fire  was  blazing  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  as  I  sank  into  a  soft  easy  chair,  I  felt  my  first 
sensation  of  fatigue. 

Next  morning  the  sky  was  overcast,  everything  out- 
side was  wet  and  dripping  and  a  cold  wind  had  sprung 
up  that  rattled  the  naked  boughs  of  a  great  elm,  heavy 
with  raindrops,  against  our  window.  As  soon  as  the 
houseboy  had  kindled  a  fire,  Mrs.  Simpson's  maid 
|  came  to  help  us  dress,  and  brought  a  toddy  of  fine  old 
\  peach  brandy,  sweetened  with  white  sugar.     I  made 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  27 

Mett  take  a  big  swig  of  it  to  strengthen  her  for  the 
journey,  as  she  seemed  very  weak;  but  not  being  ac- 
customed to  the  use  of  spirits,  it  upset  her  so  that  she 
couldn't  walk  across  the  floor.  I  was  frightened 
nearly  out  of  my  wits,  but  she  soon  recovered  and  felt 
much  benefited  by  her  unintentional  spree,  at  which 
we  had  a  good  laugh. 

We  had  a  royal  breakfast,  and  while  we  were  eating . 
it,  Mr.  Belisle,  who  had  spent  the  night  at  the  hotel, 
drove  up  with  a  four-mule  wagon,  in  which  he  had 
engaged  places  for  us  and  our  trunks  to  Milledgeville, 
at  seventy-five  dollars  apiece.  It  was  a  common  plan- 
tation wagon,  without  cover  or  springs,  and  I  saw  Mr. 
Simpson  shake  his  head  ominously  as  we  jingled  off  to 
take  up  more  passengers  at  the  hotel.  There  were 
several  other  conveyances  of  the  same  sort,  already 
overloaded,  waiting  in  front  of  the  door,  and  a  number 
of  travelers  standing  on  the  sidewalk  rushed  forward 
to  secure  places  in  ours  as  soon  as  we  halted.  The 
first  to  climb  in  was  a  poor  sick  soldier,  of  whom  no 
pay  was  demanded.  Next  came  a  captain  of  Texas 
Rangers,  then  a  young  lieutenant  in  a  shabby  uniform 
that  had  evidently  seen  very  hard  service,  and  after  him 
our  handsome  young  captain  of  the  night  before.  He 
grumbled  a  little  at  the  looks  of  the  conveyance,  but 
on  finding  we  were  going  to  ride  in  it,  dashed  off  to 
secure  a  seat  for  himself.  While  we  sat  waiting 
there,  I  overheard  a  conversation  between  a  country- 
man and  a  nervous  traveler  that  was  not  calculated  to 


28        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

relieve  my  mind.  In  answer  to  some  inquiry  about 
the  chances  for  hiring  a  conveyance  at  Milledgeville, 
I  heard  the  countryman  say: 

"  Milledgeville's  like  hell;  you  kin  get  thar  easy 
enough,  but  gittin'  out  agin  would  beat  the  Devil  him- 
self." 

I  didn't  hear  the  traveler's  next  remark,  but  it  must 
have  been  something  about  Metta  and  me,  for  I  heard 
the  countryman  answer: 

"  Ef  them  ladies  ever  gits  to  Gordon,  they'll  be  good 
walkers.  Sherman's  done  licked  that  country  clean; 
d — n  me  ef  you  kin  hire  so  much  as  a  nigger  an'  a 
wheelbarrer." 

I  was  so  uneasy  that  I  asked  Mr.  Belisle  to  go  and 
question  the  man  further,  because  I  knew  that  after 
her  long  attack  of  typhoid  fever,  last  summer,  Metta 
couldn't  stand  hardships  as  well  as  I  could.  When 
the  captain  heard  me  he  spoke  up  immediately  and  said : 

"  Don't  give  yourselves  the  slightest  uneasiness, 
young  ladies;  I'll  see  that  you  get  safe  to  Gordon,  if 
you  will  trust  to  me." 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  authority  that  was  reassur- 
ing, and  when  he  sprang  down  from  the  wagon  and 
joined  a  group  of  officers  on  the  sidewalk,  I  knew  that 
something  was  in  the  wind.  After  a  whispered  con- 
sultation among  them,  and  a  good  deal  of  running 
back  and  forth,  he  came  to  us  and  said  that  they  had 
decided  to  "  press  "  the  wagon  in  case  of  necessity,  to 
take  the  party  to  Gordon,  and  all  being  now  ready, 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  29 

we  moved  out  of  Sparta.  We  soon  became  very 
sociable  with  our  new  companions,  though  not  one  of 
us  knew  the  other  even  by  name.  Mett  and  I  saw 
that  they  were  all  dying  with  curiosity  about  us  and 
enjoyed  keeping  them  mystified.  The  captain  said  he 
was  from  Baltimore,  and  it  was  a  sufficient  introduc- 
tion when  we  found  that  he  knew  the  Elzeys  and  the 
Irwins,  and  that  handsome  Ed  Carey  I  met  in  Mont- 
gomery last  winter,  who  used  to  be  always  telling  me 
how  much  I  reminded  him  of  his  cousin  "  Connie." 
Just  beyond  Sparta  we  were  halted  by  one  of  the 
natives,  who,  instead  of  paying  forty  dollars  for  his 
passage  to  the  agent  at  the  hotel,  like  the  rest  of  us, 
had  walked  ahead  and  made  a  private  bargain  with 
Uncle  Grief,  the  driver,  for  ten  dollars.  .This 
"  Yankee  trick  "  raised  a  laugh  among  our  impecuni- 
ous Rebs,  and  the  lieutenant,  who  was  just  Out  of  a 
Northern  prison,  and  very  short  of  funds,  thanked 
him  for  the  lesson  and  declared  he  meant  to  profit  by 
it  the  next  chance  he  got.  The  newcomer  proved  to 
be  a  very  amusing  character,  and  we  nicknamed  him 
"  Sam  Weller,"  on  account  of  his  shrewdness  and 
rough-and-ready  wit.  He  was  dressed  in  a  coarse 
home-made  suit,  but  was  evidently  something  of  a 
dandy,  as  his  shirt-front  sported  a  broad  cotton  rufHe 
edged  with  home-made  cotton  lace.  He  was  a  rebel 
soldier,  he  said :  "  Went  in  at  the  fust  pop  and  been 
a-fightin'  ever  since,  till  the  Yankees  caught  me  here, 
home  on  furlough,  and  wouldn't  turn  me  loose  till  I 


3o        THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

had  took  their  infernal  oath — beg  your  pardon,  ladies 
— the  jig's  pretty  nigh  up  anyway,  so  I  don't  reckon 
it'll  make  much  difFrence." 

He  told  awful  tales  about  the  things  Sherman's 
robbers  had  done ;  it  made  my  blood  boil  to  hear  them, 
and  when  the  captain  asked  him  if  some  of  the  rascals 
didn't  get  caught  themselves  sometimes — stragglers 
and  the  like — he  answered  with  a  wink  that  said  more 
than  words : 

"Yes;  our  folks  took  lots  of  prisoners;  more'n'll 
ever  be  heard  of  agin." 

"  What  became  of  them  ?  "  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"  Sent  'em  to  Macon,  double  quick,"  was  the  laconic 
reply.     "  Got  'em  thar  in  less'n  half  an  hour." 

"  How  did  they  manage  it  ?  "  continued  the  lieu- 
tenant, in  a  tone  that  showed  he  understood  Sam's 
metaphor. 

"  Just  took  'em  out  in  the  woods  and  lost  'em,"  he 
replied,  in  his  jerky,  laconic  way.  "  Ever  heerd  o' 
losin'  men,  lady?"  he  added,  turning  to  me,  with  an 
air  of  grim  waggery  that  made  my  flesh  creep — for 
after  all,  even  Yankees  are  human  beings,  though  they 
don't  always  behave  like  it. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  had  heard  of  it,  but  thought  it  a 
horrible  thing." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  in  losin'  'em,  neither,  as  a  gener'l 
thing,"  he  went  on.  "  I  don't  think  it's  right  princi- 
pul,  and  I  wouldn't  lose  one  myself,  but  when  I  see 
what  they  have  done  to  these  people  round  here,  I 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3* 

can't  blame  'em  for  losiri  every  devil  of  'em  they  kin 
git  their  hands  on." 

"  What  was  the  process  of  losing?"  asked  the  cap- 
tain. "  Did  they  manage  the  business  with  fire- 
arms? " 

"  Sometimes,  when  they  was  in  a  hurry,"  Mr. 
Weller  explained,  with  that  horrible,  grim  irony  of 
his,  "  the  guns  would  go  off  an'  shoot  'em,  in  spite  of 
all  that  our  folks  could  do.  But  most  giner'ly  they 
took  the  grapevine  road  in  the  fust  patch  of  woods 
they  come  to,  an'  soon  as  ever  they  got  sight  of  a  tree 
with  a  grape  vine  on  it,  it's  cur'ous  how  skeered  their 
hosses  would  git.  You  couldn't  keep  'em  from  run- 
nin'  away,  no  matter  what  you  done,  an'  they  never 
run  fur  before  their  heads  was  caught  in  a  grape 
vine  and  they  would  stand  thar,  dancin'  on  nothin'  till 
they  died.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anybody  dancin'  on 
nothin'  before,  lady?" — turning  to  me. 

I  said  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  tell  it;  even  a 
Yankee  was  entitled  to  protection  when  a  prisoner 
of  war. 

"  But  these  fellows  wasn't  regular  prisoners  of 
war,  lady,"  said  the  sick  soldier;  "they  were  thieves 
and  houseburners," — and  I  couldn't  but  feel  there  was 
something  in  that  view  of  it.* 


*  In  justice  to  both  sides,  it  must  be  understood  that  the  class 
of  prisoners  here  referred  to  were  stragglers  and  freebooters  who 
had. wandered  off  in  search  of  plunder,  and  probably  got  no  worse 
than  they  deserved  when  they  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enraged 
country  people,  who  were  naturally  not  inclined  to  regard  the  ex- 


32        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

About  three  miles  from  Sparta  we  struck  the 
"  Burnt  Country,"  as  it  is  well  named  by  the  natives, 
and  then  I  could  better  understand  the  wrath  and 
desperation  of  these  poor  people.  I  almost  felt  as  if 
I  should  like  to  hang  a  Yankee  myself.  There  was 
hardly  a  fence  left  standing  all  the  way  from  Sparta 
to  Gordon.  The  fields  were  trampled  down  and  the 
road  was  lined  with  carcasses  of  horses,  hogs,  and 
cattle  that  the  invaders,  unable  either  to  consume  or 
to  carry  away  with  them,  had  wantonly  shot  down 
to  starve  out  the  people  and  prevent  them  from  mak- 
ing their  crops.  The  stench  in  some  places  was  un- 
bearable; every  few  hundred  yards  we  had  to  hold 
our  noses  or  stop  them  with  the  cologne  Mrs.  Elzey 
had  given  us,  and  it  proved  a  great  boon.  The  dwell- 
ings that  were  standing  all  showed  signs  of  pillage, 
and  on  every  plantation  we  saw  the  charred  remains 
of  the  gin-house  and  packing-screw,  while  here  and 
there,  lone  chimney-stacks,  "  Sherman's  Sentinels," 
told  of  homes  laid  in  ashes.  The  infamous  wretches ! 
I  couldn't  wonder  now  that  these  poor  people  should 


propriation  of  their  family  plate  and  household  goods  and  the 
burning  of  their  homes  as  a  part  of  legitimate  warfare.  There 
were  doubtless  many  brave  and  honorable  men  in  Sherman's 
army  who  would  not  stoop  to  plunder,  and  who  did  the  best  they 
could  to  keep  from  making  war  the  "  hell  "  their  leader  defined  it 
to  be,  but  these  were  not  the  kind  who  would  be  likely  to  get 
"  lost."  Those  readers  who  care  to  inform  themselves  fully  on 
the  subject,  are  referred  to  the  official  correspondence  between 
Gen.  Sherman  and  Gen.  Wade  Hampton  in  regard  to  the  treat- 
ment of  "  foragers." 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  33 

want  to  put  a  rope  round  the  neck  of  every  red-handed 
"  devil  of  them  "  they  could  lay  their  hands  on.  Hay 
ricks  and  fodder  stacks  were  demolished,  corn  cribs 
were  empty,  and  every  bale  of  cotton  that  could  be 
found  was  burnt  by  the  savages.  I  saw  no  grain  of 
any  sort,  except  little  patches  they  had  spilled  when 
feeding  their  horses  and  which  there  was  not  even  a 
chicken  left  in  the  country  to  eat.  A  bag  of  oats 
might  have  lain  anywhere  along  the  road  without 
danger  from  the  beasts  of  the  field,  though  I  cannot 
say  it  would  have  been  safe  from  the  assaults  of 
hungry  man.  Crowds  of  soldiers  were  tramping  over 
the  road  in  both  directions;  it  was  like  traveling 
through  the  streets  of  a  populous  town  all  day.  They 
were  mostly  on  foot,  and  I  saw  numbers  seated  on 
the  roadside  greedily  eating  raw  turnips,  meat  skins, 
parched  corn — anything  they  could  find,  even  picking 
up  the  loose  grains  that  Sherman's  horses  had  left.  I 
felt  tempted  to  stop  and  empty  the  contents  of  our 
provision  baskets  into  their  laps,  but  the  dreadful  ac- 
counts that  were  given  of  the  state  of  the  country 
before  us,  made  prudence  get  the  better  of  our  gen- 
erosity. 

The  roads  themselves  were  in  a  better  condition 
than  might  have  been  expected,  and  we  traveled  at  a 
pretty  fair  rate,  our  four  mules  being  strong  and  in 
good  working  order.  When  we  had  made  about  half 
the  distance  to  Milledgeville  it  began  to  rain,  so  the 
gentlemen  cut  down  saplings  which  they  fitted  in  the 


34        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

form  of  bows  across  the  body  of  the  wagon,  and 
stretching  the  lieutenant's  army  blanket  over  it,  made 
a  very  effectual  shelter.  Our  next  halt  was  near  a 
dilapidated  old  house  where  there  was  a  fine  well  of 
water.  The  Yankees  had  left  it,  I  suppose,  because 
they  couldn't  carry  it  away.  Here  we  came  up  with 
a  wagon  on  which  were  mounted  some  of  the  people 
we  had  seen  on  the  cars  the  day  before.  They 
stopped  to  exchange  experiences,  offered  us  a  toddy, 
and  brought  us  water  in  a  beautiful  calabash  gourd 
with  a  handle  full  three  feet  long.  We  admired  it  so 
much  that  one  of  them  laughingly  proposed  to  "  cap- 
ture "  it  for  us,  but  we  told  them  we  didn't  care  to 
imitate  Sherman's  manners.  A  mile  or  two  further 
on  we  were  hailed  by  a  queer-looking  object  sitting  on 
a  log  in  the  corner  of  a  half-burnt  fence.  It  was 
wrapped  up  in  a  big  white  blanket  that  left  nothing 
else  visible  except  a  round,  red  face  and  a  huge  pair 
of  feet.  Before  anybody  could  decide  whether  the 
apparition  was  a  ghost  from  the  lower  regions  or  an 
escaped  lunatic  from  the  state  asylum  in  his  night- 
gown, Sam  Weller  jumped  up,  exclaiming: 

"  Galvanized,  galvanized !  Stop,  driver,  a  galvan- 
ized Yankee !  "  * 

As  soon  as  Uncle  Grief  had  brought  his  mules  to  a 
halt,  the  strange  figure  shuffled  up  to  the  side  of  the 
wagon  and  began  to  plead  piteously,  in  broken  Dutch, 

*  Prisoners  or  deserters  from  the  other  side  who  enlisted  in  our 
army,  were  called  "  galvanized  Yankees." 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  35 

to  be  taken  in.  He  was  shaking  with  a  common  ague 
fit,  and  though  we  couldn't  help  feeling  sorry  for  him, 
he  looked  so  comical  as  he  stood  there  with  his  blanket 
drawn  round  him  like  a  winding  sheet  and  his  little 
red  Dutch  face  peering  out  at  us  with  such  an  expres- 
sion of  exaggerated  and  needless  terror,  that  it  was 
hard  to  repress  a  smile.  The  captain  was  about  to  order 
Uncle  Grief  to  drive  on  without  taking  any  further 
notice  of  him,  but  Sam  Weller  assured  us  that  the 
country  people  would  certainly  hang  him  if  they  should 
catch  him  away  from  his  command.  They  were  too 
exasperated  to  make  any  distinction  between  a  "  gal- 
vanized "  and  any  other  sort  of  a  Yankee — and  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  think,  myself,  if  there  is  any  difference 
at  all,  it  is  in  favor  of  those  who  remain  true  to  their 
own  cause.  The  kind-hearted  lieutenant  took  his 
part,  Mett  and  I  seconded  him,  and  the  poor  creature 
was  allowed  to  climb  into  our  wagon,  where  he  curled 
himself  up  on  a  pile  of  fodder  beside  our  sick  soldier, 
who  didn't  seem  to  relish  the  companionship  very 
much,  though  he  said  nothing.  But  Sam  Weller 
couldn't  let  him  rest,  and  immediately  began  to  berate 
him  for  his  imprudence  in  straggling  off  from  his 
command  at  the  risk  of  getting  himself  hanged,  and 
to  entertain  him  with  enlivening  descriptions  of  the 
art  of  "  dancin'  on  nothin'  "  and  the  various  methods 
of  getting  "  lost."  All  at  once  he  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  in  his  tirade,  and  asked, 

"  Iss  you  cot  any  money,  Wappy  ?  " 


36       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

"  Nein,  ich  cot  no  more  ash  den  thaler,"  quaked 
Hans. 

Then,  pulling  a  fat  roll  of  change  bills  out  of  his 
pocket,  he  ("  Sam  ")  handed  them  to  the  Dutchman, 
saying : 

"  Well,  here's  shin-plasters  enough  to  cover  you 
better  than  that  there  blanket,  if  you  want  them." 

Hans  grabbed  the  money,  which  was  increased  by 
small  contributions  from  the  rest  of  us — not  that  we 
thought  his  enlistment  in  the  Confederate  army 
counted  for  anything,  but  we  felt  sorry  for  him,  be- 
cause he  was  "  sick  and  a  stranger."  After  all,  what 
can  these  ignorant  foreigners  be  expected  to  know  or 
care  about  our  quarrel? 

Soon  after  this  we  came  to  a  pretty,  clear  stream, 
where  Uncle  Grief  stopped  to  water  his  horses  and  we 
decided  to  eat  our  dinner.  Those  of  our  companions 
who  had  anything  to  eat  at  all,  were  provided  only 
with  army  rations,  so  Mett  and  I  shared  with  them 
the  good  things  we  had  brought  from  home.  We 
offered  some  to  Hans,  and  this  started  Sam  off  again : 

"  Now,  Wappy,  see  that !  "  he  cried.  "  The  rebel 
ladies  feed  you;  remember  that  the  next  time  you  go 
to  burn  a  house  down,  or  steal  a  rebel  lady's  watch! 
I  say,"  he  shouted,  putting  his  lips  to  Hans's  ear,  as 
the  Dutchman  seemed  not  to  understand,  "  remember 
how  the  rebel  ladies  fed  you,  when  you  turn  Yank 
agin  and  go  to  drivin'  women  out-o'-doors  and  stealin' 
their  clothes." 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  37 

Fortunately  for  "  Wappy's "  peace  of  mind  he 
didn't  know  enough  English  to  take  in  the  long  list  of 
Yankee  misdeeds  that  Sam  continued  to  recount  for 
his  benefit,  although  he  assured  us  that  he  could  "  un- 
terstant  vat  man  say  to  him  besser  als  he  could  dalk 
himselbst."  The  captain  suspected  him  of  putting  on, 
and  laughed  at  Metta  and  me  for  wasting  sympathy 
on  him,  but  the  lieutenant  shared  our  feelings,  and  I 
liked  him  for  it. 

Just  before  reaching  Milledgeville,  Sam  Weller  got 
down  to  walk  to  his  home,  which  he  said  was  about 
two  miles  back  from  the  highway.  "  Come,  Wappy," 
he  said,  as  he  was  climbing  down,  "  if  you  will  go  home 
with  me,  I  will  take  care  of  you  and  put  you  in  a 
horspittle  where  you  won't  be  in  no  danger  of  gittin' 
lost.     Can  you  valk  doo  milsh?" 

Hans  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  scrambled  down 
with  a  deal  of  groaning  and  quaking.  Sam  and  the 
lieutenant  assisted  him  with  much  real  gentleness,  and 
when  he  was  on  the  ground,  he  tried  to  make  a  speech 
thanking  the  "  laties  unt  shentlemansh,"  but  it  was  in 
such  bad  English  that  we  couldn't  understand. 

"  Now,  don't  lose  the  poor  wretch,"  I  said  to  Mr. 
Weller,  as  they  moved  off  together. 

"  No,  no,  miss,  I  won't  do  that,"  he  answered  in  a 
tone  of  such  evident  sincerity  that  I  felt  Hans  was 
safe  in  the  care  of  this  strange,  contradictory  being, 
who  could  talk  so  like  a  savage,  and  yet  be  capable  of 
such  real  kindness. 


38        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Before  crossing  the  Oconee  at  Milledgeville  we  as- 
cended an  immense  hill,  from  which  there  was  a  fine 
view  of  the  town,  with  Gov.  Brown's  fortifications  in 
the  foreground  and  the  river  rolling  at  our  feet.  The 
Yankees  had  burnt  the  bridge,  so  we  had  to  cross  on  a 
ferry.  There  was  a  long  train  of  vehicles  ahead  of 
us,  and  it  was  nearly  an  hour  before  our  turn  came, 
so  we  had  ample  time  to  look  about  us.  On  our  left 
was  a  field  where  30,000  Yankees  had  camped  hardly 
three  weeks  before.  It  was  strewn  with  the  debris 
they  had  left  behind,  and  the  poor  people  of  the  neigh- 
borhood were  wandering  over  it,  seeking  for  anything 
they  could  find  to  eat,  even  picking  up  grains  of  corn 
that  were  scattered  around  where  the  Yankees  had 
j  fed  their  horses.  We  were  told  that  a  great  many 
valuables  were  found  there  at  first, — plunder  that  the 
invaders  had  left  behind,  but  the  place  had  been  picked 
over  so  often  by  this  time  that  little  now  remained 
except  tufts  of  loose  cotton,  piles  of  half-rotted  grain, 
and  the  carcasses  of  slaughtered  animals,  which  raised 
a  horrible  stench.  Some  men  were  plowing  in  one 
part  of  the  field,  making  ready  for  next  year's  crop. 

At  the  Milledgeville  Hotel,  we  came  to  a  dead  halt. 
Crowds  of  uniformed  men  were  pacing  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  galleries  like  caged  animals  in  a  menag- 
erie. As  soon  as  our  wagon  drew  up  there  was  a 
general  rush  for  it,  but  our  gentlemen  kept  possession 
and  told  Mett  and  me  to  sit  still  and  hold  it  while 
they  went  in  to  see  what  were  the  chances  for  accom- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  39 

modation.  After  a  hurried  consultation  with  the  other 
gentlemen  of  our  party,  they  all  collected  round  our 
wagon  and  informed  us  that  they  had  "  pressed  "  it 
into  service  to  take  us  to  Gordon,  and  we  were  to  go 
on  to  Scotsborough  that  night.  When  all  the  baggage 
was  in,  the  vehicle  was  so  heavily  loaded  that  not  only 
the  servants  had  to  walk,  but  the  gentlemen  of  the 
party  could  only  ride  by  turns,  one  or  two  at  a  time. 
Our  sick  soldier  was  left  at  the  hospital,  and  the 
bride's  big  trunks,  that  I  wouldn't  have  believed  all  the 
women  in  the  Confederacy  had  clothes  enough  to  fill, 
were  piled  up  in  front  to  protect  us  against  the  wind. 
Uncle  Grief  looked  the  embodiment  of  his  name  while 
these  preparations  were  going  on,  but  a  tip  of  ten 
dollars  from  each  of  us,  and  the  promise  of  a  letter 
to  his  master  relieving  him  from  all  blame,  quickly 
overcame  his  scruples. 

Night  closed  in  soon  after  we  left  Milledgeville,  and 
it  began  to  rain  in  earnest.  Then  we  lost  the  road, 
and  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  the  bride  dropped 
her  parasol  and  we  had  to  stop  there  in  the  rain  to  look 
for  it.  A  new  silk  parasol  that  cost  four  or  five  hun- 
dred dollars  was  too  precious  to  lose.  The  colonel  and 
the  captain  went  back  half  a  mile  to  get  a  torch,  and 
after  all,  found  the  parasol  lying  right  under  her  feet 
in  the  body  of  the  wagon.  About  nine  o'clock  we 
reached  Scotsborough,  the  little  American  "  Cranford," 
where  the  Butlers  used  to  have  their  summer  home.  Like 
Mrs.  Gaskell's  delightful  little  borough,  it  is  inhabited 


40       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

chiefly  by  aristocratic  widows  and  old  maids,  who 
rarely  had  their  quiet  lives  disturbed  by  any  event 
more  exciting  than  a  church  fair,  till  Sherman's  army 
marched  through  and  gave  them  such  a  shaking  up 
that  it  will  give  them  something  to  talk  about  the  rest 
of  their  days.  Dr.  Shine  and  the  Texas  captain  had 
gone  ahead  of  the  wagon  and  made  arrangements  for 
our  accommodation.  The  night  was  very  dismal,  and 
when  we  drew  up  in  front  of  the  little  inn,  and  saw 
a  big  lightwood  fire  blazing  in  the  parlor  chimney,  I 
thought  I  had  never  seen  anything  so  bright  and  com- 
fortable before.  When  Mrs.  Palmer,  the  landlady, 
learned  who  Metta  and  I  were,  she  fairly  hugged  us 
off  our  feet,  and  declared  that  Mrs.  Troup  Butler's 
sisters  were  welcome  to  her  house  and  everything  in 
it,  and  then  she  bustled  off  with  her  daughter  Jenny 
to  make  ready  their  own  chamber  for  our  use.  She 
could  not  give  us  any  supper  because  the  Yankees  had 
taken  all  her  provisions,  but  she  brought  out  a  jar  of 
pickles  that  had  been  hidden  up  the  chimney,  and 
gave  us  the  use  of  her  dining  table  and  dishes — such 
of  them  as  the  Yankees  had  left — to  spread  our  lunch 
on.  While  Charles  and  Crockett,  the  servants  of  Dr. 
Shine  and  the  colonel,  were  unpacking  our  baskets  in 
the  dining-room,  all  our  party  assembled  in  the  little 
parlor,  the  colonel  was  made  master  of  ceremonies, 
and  a  general  introduction  took  place.  The  Texas 
captain  gave  his  name  as  Jarman;  the  shabby  lieuten- 
ant in  the  war-worn  uniform — all  honor  to  it — was 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  41 

Mr.  Foster,  of  Florence,  Ala.;  the  Baltimorean  was 
Capt.  Mackall,  cousin  of  the  commandant  at  Macon, 
and  the  colonel  himself  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Confederate  Congress,  but  resigned  to  go  into  the 
army,  the  only  place  for  a  brave  man  in  these  times. 
So  we  all  knew  each  other  at  last  and  had  a  good  laugh 
together  over  the  secret  curiosity  that  had  been  de- 
vouring each  of  us  about  our  traveling  companions, 
for  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  Presently  Crockett 
announced  supper,  and  we  went  into  the  dining-room. 
We  had  some  real  coffee,  a  luxury  we  owed  the  bride, 
but  there  was  only  one  spoon  to  all  the  company,  so 
she  arranged  that  she  should  pour  out  the  coffee,  I  » 

should   stir   each   cup,   and   Mett   pass   them   to   the  %v 

guests,  with  the  assurance  that  the  cup  was  made 
sweeter  "  by  the  magic  of  three  pair  of  fair  hands." 
Then  Mrs.  Palmer's  jar  of  pickles  was  brought  out 
and  presented  with  a  little  tableau  scene  she  had  made 
up  beforehand,  even  coaching  me  as  to  the  pretty 
speeches  I  was  to  make.  I  felt  very  silly,  but  I  hoped 
the  others  were  too  hungry  to  notice. 

Supper  over,  we  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  I  never 
spent  a  more  delightful  evening.  Riding  along  in  the 
wagon,  we  had  amused  ourselves  by  making  up  im- 
promptu couplets  to  "  The  Confederate  Toast,"  and 
now  that  we  were  comfortably  housed,  I  thanked 
Capt.  Jarman  and  Dr.  Shine  for  their  efforts,  in  a 
pair  of  impromptu  verses  to  the  same  air.  This 
started  up  a  rivalry  in  verse-making,  each  one  trying 


42        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  outdo  the  other  in  the  absurdity  of  their  composi- 
tion, and  some  of  them  were  very  funny.  When  we 
broke  up  for  the  night,  there  were  more  theatricals 
planned  by  the  bride,  who  disposed  a  white  scarf 
round  her  head,  placed  Metta  and  me,  one  on  each 
side  of  her,  so  as  to  make  a  sort  of  tableau  vivant  on 
the  order  of  a  "  Three  Graces,"  or  a  "  Faith,  Hope, 
and  Charity  "  group,  and  backed  slowly  out  of  the 
room,  bowing  and  singing,  "  Good  Night."  She 
really  was  so  pretty  and  girlish  that  she  could  carry 
off  anything  with  grace,  but  I  hadn't  that  excuse,  and 
never  felt  so  foolish  in  my  life. 

Mrs.  Palmer's  chamber,  in  which  Metta  and  I  were 
to  sleep,  was  a  shed  room  of  not  very  inviting  aspect, 
but  the  poor  woman  had  done  her  best  for  us,  and 
we  were  too  tired  to  be  critical.  When  I  had  put  my 
clothes  off  and  started  to  get  into  bed,  I  found  there 
was  but  one  sheet,  and  that  looked  as  if  half  of  Sher- 
man's army  might  have  slept  in  it.  Mett  was  too  dead 
sleepy  to  care;  "  Shut  your  eyes  and  go  it  blind,"  she 
said,  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  tumbled  into 
bed  without  looking,  and  was  asleep  almost  by  the 
time  she  had  touched  the  pillow.  I  tried  to  follow 
her  example,  but  it  was  no  use.  The  weather  had 
begun  to  turn  very  cold,  and  the  scanty  supply  of  bed- 
clothes the  Yankees  had  left  Mrs.  Palmer  was  not 
enough  to  keep  me  warm.  Then  it  began  to  rain  in 
torrents,  and  presently  I  felt  a  cold  shower  bath  de- 
scending on  me  through  the  leaky  roof.     Metta's  side 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  43 

of  the  bed  was  comparatively  dry,  and  she  waked  up 
just  enough  to  pull  the  cotton  bedquilt  that  was  our 
only  covering,  over  her  head,  and  then  went  stolidly 
to  sleep  again.  Meanwhile  the  storm  increased  till  it 
was  terrible.  The  rain  seemed  to  come  down  in  a 
solid  sheet,  and  I  thought  the  old  house  would  be  torn 
from  its  foundations  by  the  fierce  wind  that  swept 
over  it.  The  solitary  pine  knot  that  had  been  our 
only  light  went  out  and  left  us  in  total  darkness,  but 
I  was  getting  so  drenched  where  I  lay  that  I  was 
obliged  to  move,  so  I  groped  my  way  to  an  old  lounge 
that  stood  in  a  somewhat  sheltered  corner  by  the  fire- 
place, and  covered  myself  with  the  clothing  I  had 
taken  off.  The  lounge  was  so  narrow  that  I  couldn't 
turn  over  without  causing  my  cover  to  fall  over  on  the 
floor,  so  I  lay  stiff  as  a  corpse  all  night,  catching  little 
uneasy  snatches  of  sleep  between  the  wildest  bursts  of 
the  storm.  Early  in  the  morning  Mrs.  Palmer  and 
Jenny  came  in  with  bowls  and  pans  to  put  under  the 
leaks.  There  were  so  many  that  we  were  quite 
shingled  over,  as  we  lay  in  bed,  with  a  tin  roof  of  pots 
and  pans,  and  they  made  such  a  rattling  as  the  water 
pattered  into  them,  that  neither  of  us  could  sleep  any 
more  for  laughing.  The  colonel  had  given  us  instruc- 
tions over  night  to  be  ready  for  an  early  start,  so  when 
another  pine  knot  had  been  lighted  on  the  hearth,  we 
made  haste  to  dress,  before  it  burned  out. 

Mrs.  Palmer  had  contrived  to  spread  us  a  scanty 
breakfast  of  hot  waffles,  fresh  sausages,  and  parched 


44       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

wheat  coffee.     But  the  bride,  as  is  the  way  of  brides, 
was  so  long  in  getting  ready  that  it  was  nearly  ten 
o'clock  before  we   started  on  our  journey.     It  had 
stopped  raining  by  this  time,  but  the  weather  was  so 
cold  and  cloudy  that  I  found  my  two  suits  of  clothing 
very  comfortable.     A  bitter  wind  was  blowing,  and 
on  all  sides  were  to  be  seen  shattered  boughs  and 
uprooted  trees,  effects  of  the  past  night's  storm.     The 
gentlemen  had  had  all  the  baggage  placed  in  front,  and 
the  floor  of  the  wagon  covered  with  fodder,  where  we 
could  sit  and  find  some  protection  from  the  wind.     I 
should  have  felt  tolerably  comfortable  if  I  had  not 
seen  that  Metta  was  feeling  ill,  though  she  kept  up 
her  spirits  and  did  not  complain.     She  said  she  had 
a  headache,  and  I  noticed  that  her  face  was  covered 
with  ugly  red  splotches,  which  I  supposed  were  caused 
by  the  wind  chapping  her  skin.     We  put  our  shawls 
over  our  heads,  but  the  wind  played  such  antics  with 
them  that  they  were  not  much  protection.     The  bride, 
instead  of  crouching  down  with  us,  mounted  on  top 
of  a  big  trunk,  the  coldest  place  she  could  find,  and 
cheered  us  with  the  comforting  announcement  that 
she  was  going  to  have  pneumonia.     It  was  beautiful 
to  see  how  the  big,  handsome  colonel  devoted  himself 
to  her,  and  I  half  suspect  that  was  at  the  bottom  of 
her  pneumonia  scare — at  least  we  heard  no  more  of  it. 
I  offered  her  some  of  our  brandy,  and  the  doctor 
made  her  a  toddy,  but  she  couldn't  drink  it  because 
it  was  grape  and  not  peach.     Everybody  seemed  dis- 


METTA    ANDREWS 

(Mrs.  T.  M.  Green) 

From    a   photograph    taken    in    187 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  45 

posed  to  be  silent  and  out  of  sorts  at  first,  except  Metta 
and  me,  who  had  not  yet  had  adventures  enough  to 
surfeit  us,  and  we  kept  on  talking  till  we  got  the  rest 
of  them  into  a  good  humor.  We  made  the  gentlemen 
tell  us  what  their  various  professions  were  before  the 
war,  and  were  delighted  to  learn  that  our  dear  colonel 
was  a  lawyer.  We  told  him  that  our  father  was  a 
judge,  and  that  we  loved  lawyers  better  than  anybody 
else  except  soldiers,  whereupon  he  laughed  and  ad- 
vised the  other  gentlemen,  who  were  all  unmarried, 
to  take  to  the  law.  I  said  that  about  lawyers  for  the 
doctor's  benefit,  because  he  looked  all  the  time  as  if  he 
were  afraid  one  of  us  was  going  to  fall  in  love  with 
him.  I  laughed  and  told  Mett  that  it  was  she  that 
scared  him,  with  her  hair  all  cropped  off  from  fever, 
and  that  dreadful  splotched  complexion.  He  heaped 
coals  of  fire  on  my  head  soon  after,  when  I  was  cower- 
ing down  in  the  body  of  the  wagon,  nearly  dead  with 
cold,  by  inviting  me  to  get  out  and  warm  myself  by 
taking  a  walk.  My  feet  were  so  cold  that  they  felt 
like  lifeless  clods  and  I  could  hardly  stand  on  them 
when  I  first  stepped  to  the  ground,  but  a  brisk  walk 
of  two  miles  warmed  me  up  so  pleasantly  that  I  was 
sorry  when  a  succession  of  mud  holes  forced  me  to 
get  back  into  the  wagon. 

About  noon  we  struck  the  Milledgeville  &  Gordon 
R.R.,  near  a  station  which  the  Yankees  had  burnt, 
and  a  mill  near  by  they  had  destroyed  also,  out  of 
pure  malice,  to  keep  the  poor  people  of  the  country 


46       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

from  getting  their  corn  ground.  There  were  several 
crossroads  at  the  burnt  mill  and  we  took  the  wrong 
one,  and  got  into  somebody's  cornfield,  where  we 
found  a  little  crib  whose  remoteness  seemed  to  have 
protected  it  from  the  greed  of  the  invaders.  We  were 
about  to  "  press  "  a  few  ears  for  our  hungry  mules, 
when  we  spied  the  owner  coming  across  the  fields  and 
waited  for  him.  The  captain  asked  if  he  would  sell 
us  a  little  provender  for  our  mules,  but  he  gave  such  a 
pitiful  account  of  the  plight  in  which  Sherman  had  left 
him  that  we  felt  as  mean  as  a  lot  of  thieving  Yankees 
ourselves,  for  having  thought  of  disturbing  his  prop- 
erty. He  was  very  polite,  and  walked  nearly  a  mile 
in  the  biting  wind  to  put  us  back  in  the  right  road. 
Three  miles  from  Gordon  we  came  to  Commissioners' 
Creek,  of  which  we  had  heard  awful  accounts  all  along 
the  road.  It  was  particularly  bad  just  at  this  time  on 
account  of  the  heavy  rain,  and  had  overflowed  the 
swamp  for  nearly  two  miles.  Porters  with  heavy 
packs  on  their  backs  were  wading  through  the  sloughs, 
and  soldiers  were  paddling  along  with  their  legs  bare 
and  their  breeches  tied  up  in  a  bundle  on  their 
shoulders.  They  were  literal  sans  culottes.  Some 
one  who  had  just  come  from  the  other  side  advised  us 
to  unload  the  wagon  and  make  two  trips  of  it,  as  it 
was  doubtful  whether  the  mules  could  pull  through 
with  such  a  heavy  load.  The  Yankees  had  thrown 
dead  cattle  in  the  ford,  so  that  we  had  to  drive  about 
at  random  in  the  mud  and  water,  to  avoid  these  un- 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  47 

canny  obstructions.  Our  gentlemen,  however,  con- 
cluded that  we  had  not  time  to  make  two  trips,  so 
they  all  piled  into  the  wagon  at  once  and  trusted  to 
Providence  for  the  result.  We  came  near  upsetting 
twice,  and  the  water  was  so  deep  in  places  that  we 
had  to  stand  on  top  of  the  trunks  to  keep  our  feet  dry. 
Safely  over  the  swamp,  we  dined  on  the  scraps  left 
in  our  baskets,  which  afforded  but  a  scanty  meal.  The 
cold  and  wind  had  increased  so  that  we  could  hardly 
keep  our  seats,  but  the  roads  improved  somewhat  as 
we  advanced,  and  the  aspect  of  the  country  was  beau- 
tiful in  spite  of  all  that  the  vandalism  of  war  had  done 
to  disfigure  its  fair  face.  Every  few  hundred  yards 
we  crossed  beautiful,  clear  streams  with  luxuriant 
swamps  along  their  borders,  gay  with  shining  ever- 
greens and  bright  winter  berries.  But  when  we  struck 
the  Central  R.R.  at  Gordon,  the  desolation  was  more 
complete  than  anything  we  had  yet  seen.  There  was 
nothing  left  of  the  poor  little  village  but  ruins,  charred 
and  black  as  Yankee  hearts.  The  pretty  little  depot 
presented  only  a  shapeless  pile  of  bricks  capped  by  a 
crumpled  mass  of  tin  that  had  once  covered  the  roof. 
The  R.R.  track  was  torn  up  and  the  iron  twisted  into 
every  conceivable  shape.  Some  of  it  was  wrapped 
round  the  trunks  of  trees,  as  if  the  cruel  invaders,  not 
satisfied  with  doing  all  the  injury  they  could  to  their 
fellowmen,  must  spend  their  malice  on  the  innocent 
trees  of  the  forest,  whose  only  fault  was  that  they 
grew  on   Southern  soil.     Many  fine  young  saplings 


48        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

were  killed  in  this  way,  but  the  quickest  and  most 
effective  method  of  destruction  was  to  lay  the  iron 
across  piles  of  burning  cross-ties,  and  while  heated 
in  the  flames  it  was  bent  and  warped  so  as  to  be  en- 
tirely spoiled.  A  large  force  is  now  at  work  repairing 
the  road;  as  the  repairs  advance  a  little  every  day,  the 
place  for  meeting  the  train  is  constantly  changing  and 
not  always  easy  to  find.  We  floundered  around  in 
the  swamps  a  long  time  and  at  last  found  our  train 
in  the  midst  of  a  big  swamp,  with  crowds  of  people 
waiting  around  on  little  knolls  and  islands  till  the 
cars  should  be  opened.  Each  group  had  its  own  fire, 
and  tents  were  improvised  out  of  shawls  and  blankets 
so  that  the  scene  looked  like  a  gypsy  camp.  Here  we 
met  again  all  the  people  we  had  seen  on  the  train  at 
Camack,  besides  a  great  many  others.  Judge  Baker 
and  the  Bonhams  arrived  a  few  minutes  behind  us, 
after  having  met  with  all  sorts  of  disasters  at 
Commissioners'  Creek,  which  they  crossed  at  a 
worse  ford  than  the  one  we  had  taken.  We  found  a 
dry  place  near  the  remains  of  a  half -burned  fence 
where  Charles  and  Crockett  soon  had  a  rousing  fire 
and  we  sat  round  it,  talking  over  our  adventures  till 
the  car  was  ready  for  us.  There  was  a  great  scramble 
to  get  aboard,  and  we  were  all  crowded  into  a  little 
car  not  much  bigger  than  an  ordinary  omnibus.  Mett 
and  I  were  again  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  soldier 
boys  for  a  seat.  We  had  about  the  best  one  in  the 
car,  which  is  not  saying  much,  with  the  people  jostling 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  49 

and  pressing  against  us  from  the  crowded  aisle,  but 
as  we  had  only  16  miles  to  go,  we  thought  we  could 
stand  it  with  a  good  grace.  Metta's  indisposition  had 
been  increasing  all  day  and  she  was  now  so  ill  that  I 
was  seriously  uneasy,  but  all  I  could  do  was  to  place 
her  next  to  the  window,  where  she  would  not  be  so 
much  disturbed  by  the  crowd.  We  steamed  along 
smoothly  enough  for  an  hour  or  two,  until  just  at 
nightfall,  when  within  two  miles  of  Macon,  the  train 
suddenly  stopped  and  we  were  told  that  we  should 
have  to  spend  the  night  there  or  walk  to  town.  The 
bridge  over  Walnut  Creek,  which  had  been  damaged 
by  Stoneman's  raiders  last  summer,  was  so  weakened 
by  the  storm  of  the  night  before  that  it  threatened 
to  give  way,  and  it  was  impossible  to  run  the  train 
across.  We  were  all  in  despair.  Metta  was  really 
ill  and  the  rest  of  us  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  loss 
of  sleep,  besides  being  half  famished.  Our  provisions 
were  completely  exhausted;  the  fine  grape  brandy 
mother  had  put  in  the  basket  was  all  gone — looted,  I 
suppose,  by  the  servants — and  we  had  no  other  medi- 
cine. A  good  many  of  the  men  decided  to  walk, 
among  them  our  lieutenant,  who  was  on  his  way  home, 
just  out  of  a  Yankee  prison,  and  eager  to  spend  Christ- 
mas with  his  family.  The  dear,  good-hearted  fellow 
seemed  loath  to  leave  us  in  that  plight,  and  offered  to 
stay  and  see  us  through,  if  I  wanted  him,  but  I  couldn't 
impose  on  his  kindness  to  that  extent.  Besides,  we 
still  had  the  captain  and  the  colonel,  and  all  the  rest 


50       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

of  them,  and  I  knew  we  would  never  lack  for  atten- 
tion or  protection  as  long  as  there  was  a  Confederate 
uniform  in  sight.  Capt.  Jarman  and  Dr.  Shine  joined 
the  walkers,  too,  in  the  vain  hope  of  sending  an  engine, 
or  even  a  hand-car  for  us,  but  all  their  representations 
to  Gen.  Cobb  and  the  R.R.  authorities  were  fruitless; 
nothing  could  be  done  till  morning,  and  a  rumor  got 
out  among  us  from  somewhere  that  even  then  there 
would  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  walk  and  get  our  bag- 
gage moved  as  best  we  might.  For  the  first  time  my 
spirits  gave  way,  and  as  Metta  was  too  ill  to  notice 
what  I  was  doing,  I  hid  my  face  in  my  hands  and  took 
a  good  cry.  Then  the  captain  came  over  and  did  his 
best  to  cheer  me  up  by  talking  about  other  things.  He 
showed  me  photographs  of  his  sisters,  nice,  stylish- 
looking  girls,  as  one  would  expect  the  sisters  of  such 
a  man  to  be,  and  I  quite  fell  in  love  with  one  of  them, 
who  had  followed  him  to  a  Yankee  prison  and  died 
there  of  typhoid  fever,  contracted  while  nursing  him. 
As  soon  as  it  became  known  that  Metta  was  sick,  we 
were  overwhelmed  with  kindness  from  all  the  other 
passengers,  but  there  was  not  much  that  anybody 
could  do,  and  rest,  the  chief  thing  she  needed,  was 
out  of  the  question.  At  supper  time  the  conductor 
brought  in  some  hardtack  that  he  had  on  board  to  feed 
the  workmen,  and  distributed  it  among  us.  I  was  so 
hungry  that  I  tried  to  eat  it,  but  soon  gave  up,  and 
my  jawbones  are  sore  yet  from  the  effort.  But  the 
provisions  that  we  had  shared  with  our  companions 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  51 

on  the  journey  proved  to  be  bread  cast  on  the  waters 
that  did  not  wait  many  days  to  be  returned.  I  had 
hardly  taken  my  first  bite  of  hardtack  when  Judge 
Baker  invited  Metta  and  me  to  share  a  nice  cold 
supper  with  him;  the  bride  offered  us  the  only  thing 
she  had  left — some  real  coffee,  which  the  colonel  had 
boiled  at  a  fire  kindled  on  the  ground  outside — and  two 
ladies,  strangers  to  us,  who  had  got  aboard  at  Gordon, 
sent  us  each  a  paper  package  containing  a  dainty  little 
lunch  of  cold  chicken  and  buttered  biscuit.  But  Metta 
was  too  ill  to  eat.  She  had  a  high  fever,  and  we  both 
spent  a  miserable,  sleepless  night. 

At  last  day  began  to  break,  cold,  clear,  and  frosty, 
and  with  it  came  travelers  who  had  walked  out  from 
Macon  bringing  confirmation  of  the  report  that  no 
arrangements  would  be  made  for  carrying  passengers 
and  their  baggage  to  the  city.  This  news  made  us 
desperate.  The  men  on  board  swore  that  the  train 
should  not  move  till  some  provision  was  made  for 
getting  us  to  our  destination.  This  made  the  Gordon 
passengers  furious.  They  said  there  were  several 
women  among  them  who  had  walked  out  from  the 
city  (two  of  them  with  babies  in  their  arms),  and  the 
train  should  go  on  time,  come  what  would.  Our  men 
said  there  were  ladies  in  the  car,  too;  we  had  paid  our 
fare  to  Macon,  and  they  intended  to  see  that  we  got 
there.  Each  party  had  a  show  of  right  on  its  side, 
but  possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law,  and  this  ad- 
vantage we  determined  not  to  forego.     The  Gordon 


52        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

passengers  began  to  crowd  in  on  us  till  we  could  hardly 
breathe,  and  Capt.  Mackall,  in  no  gentle  terms,  or- 
dered them  out.  High  words  passed,  swords  and 
pistols  were  drawn  on  both  sides,  and  a  general  fight 
seemed  about  to  take  place.  Mett  and  I  were  fright- 
ened out  of  our  wits  at  the  first  alarm  and  threw  our 
arms  about  each  other.  I  kept  quiet  till  I  saw  the 
shooting  about  to  begin,  and  then,  my  nerves  all  un- 
strung by  what  I  had  suffered  during  the  night,  I 
tuned  up  and  began  to  cry  like  a  baby.  It  was  well  I 
did,  for  my  tears  brought  the  men  to  their  senses. 
Judge  Baker  and  Col.  Scott  interfered,  reminding 
them  that  ladies  were  present,  and  then  arms  were  laid 
aside  and  profuse  apologies  made  for  having  fright- 
ened us.  Both  parties  then  turned  their  indignation 
against  the  railroad  officials,  and  somebody  was  mak- 
ing a  bluster  about  pitching  the  conductor  into  the 
creek,  when  he  appeared  on  the  scene  and  appeased 
all  parties  by  announcing  that  a  locomotive  and  car 
would  be  sent  out  to  meet  the  passengers  for  Macon 
on  the  other  side  of  the  creek  and  take  us  to  the 
city.  In  the  meantime,  we  were  tantalized  by  hear- 
ing the  whistles  of  the  different  trains  with  which 
we  wished  to  connect,  as  they  rolled  out  of  the 
depot  in  Macon. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  before  our  transfer,  consisting 
of  an  engine  and  a  single  box-car,  arrived  at  the  other 
end  of  the  trestle,  and  as  they  had  to  be  unloaded  of 
their  freight  before  we  could  get  aboard,  it  was  nearly 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  53 

ten  when  we  reached  Macon.  But  as  soon  as  they  were 
heard  approaching,  we  were  so  glad  to  get  out  of  the 
prison  where  we  had  spent  such  an  uncomfortable 
night  that  we  immediately  put  on  our  wraps  and  began 
to  cross  the  tottering  trestle  on  foot.  It  was  80  feet 
high  and  half  a  mile  long,  over  a  swamp  through 
which  flowed  Walnut  Creek,  now  swollen  to  a  torrent. 
Part  of  the  flooring  of  the  bridge  was  washed  down 
stream  and  our  only  foothold  was  a  narrow  plank, 
hardly  wider  than  my  two  hands.  Capt.  Mackall 
charged  himself  with  my  parcels,  and  Mr.  Belisle  was 
left  to  look  after  the  trunks.  Strong-headed  men 
walked  along  the  sleepers  on  either  side,  to  steady  any 
one  that  might  become  dizzy.  Just  behind  Metta,  who 
followed  the  captain  and  me,  hobbled  a  wounded 
soldier  on  crutches,  and  behind  him  came  Maj.  Bon- 
ham,  borne  on  the  back  of  a  stout  negro  porter.  Last 
of  all  came  porters  with  the  trunks,  and  it  is  a  miracle 
to  me  how  they  contrived  to  carry  such  heavy  loads 
over  that  dizzy,  tottering  height. 

Once  across  the  bridge  we  disposed  ourselves  wher- 
ever we  could  find  a  firm  spot — a  dry  one  was  out  of 
the  question.  When  Metta  drew  off  her  veil  and 
gloves,  I  was  terrified  at  the  looks  of  her  hands  and 
face.  We  were  both  afraid  she  had  contracted  some 
awful  disease  in  that  dirty  car,  but  the  captain  laughed 
and  said  he  knew  all  about  army  diseases,  and  thought 
it  was  nothing  but  measles.  When  we  got  to  Macon, 
Dr.  Shine  further  relieved  my  mind  by  assuring  me 


54       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

it  was  a  mild  case,  and  said  she  needed  only  a  few  days' 
rest. 

We  reached  the  depot  just  ten  minutes  after  the 
South- Western  train  had  gone  out,  so  we  went  to  the 
Lanier  House,  and  I  at  once  sent  Mr.  Belisle  for 
Brother  Troup,  only  to  learn  that  he  had  gone  on  the 
very  train  we  had  missed,  to  spend  Christmas  at  his 
plantation. 

It  was  delightful  to  get  into  clean,  comfortable 
quarters  at  the  Lanier  House.  Metta  got  into  bed 
and  went  right  off  to  sleep,  and  I  lay  down  for  awhile, 
but  was  so  often  disturbed  by  friendly  messages  and 
inquiries  that  I  got  up  and  dressed  for  dinner.  I  put 
on  my  pretty  flowered  merino  that  had  been  freshened 
up  with  black  silk  ruchings  that  completely  hid  the 
worn  places,  and  the  waist  made  over  with  Elizabethan 
sleeves,  so  that  it  looked  almost  like  a  new  dress,  be- 
sides being  very  becoming,  as  the  big  sleeves  helped  out 
my  figure  by  their  fullness.  I  frizzed  my  hair  and  put 
on  the  head-dress  of  black  velvet  ribbon  and  gold 
braid  that  Cousin  Sallie  Farley  gave  me.  I  think  I 
must  have  looked  nice,  because  I  heard  several  people 
inquiring  who  I  was  when  I  went  into  the  dining-room. 
I  had  hardly  put  in  the  last  pin  when  a  servant 
came  to  announce  that  Mr.  Charles  Day,  Mary's 
father,  had  called:  He  was  the  only  person  in  the 
drawing-room  when  I  entered  and  made  a  very  singu- 
lar, not  to  say,  striking  appearance,  with  his  snow- 
white  hair  framing  features  of  such  a  peculiar  dark 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  55 

complexion  that  he  made  me  think  of  some  antique 
piece  of  wood-carving.  The  impression  was  strength- 
ened by  a  certain  stiffness  of  manner  that  is  generally 
to  be  noticed  in  all  men  of  Northern  birth  and  educa- 
tion. Not  long  after,  Harry  Day  called.  He  said 
that  Mary  *  was  in  Savannah,  cut  off  by  Sherman  so 
that  they  could  get  no  news  of  her.  He  didn't 
even  know  whether  mother's  invitation  had  reached 
her. 

Gussie  and  Mary  Lou  Lamar  followed  the  Days, 
and  I  was  kept  so  busy  receiving  callers  and  answering 
inquiries  about  Mett  that  I  didn't  have  time  to  find  out 
how  tired  and  sleepy  I  was  till  I  went  to  bed.  Judge 
Vason  happened  to  be  at  the  hotel  when  we  arrived, 
and  insisted  that  we  should  pack  up  and  go  with  him 
to  Albany  next  day  and  stay  at  his  house  till  we  were 
both  well  rid  of  the  measles — for  it  stands  to  reason 
that  I  shall  take  it  after  nursing  Metta.  He  said  that 
it  had  just  been  through  his  family  from  A  to  Z,  so 
there  was  no  danger  of  our  communicating  it  to  any- 
body there.  Then  Mrs.  Edward  Johnston  came  and 
proposed  taking  us  to  her  house,  and  on  Dr.  Shine's 
advice  I  decided  to  accept  this  invitation,  as  it  would 
hardly  be  prudent  for  Metta  to  travel  in  her  present 
condition,  and  we  could  not  get  proper  attention  for 
her  at  the  hotel.  I  could  not  even  get  a  chamber- 
maid without  going  the  whole  length  of  the  corridor 


*  This  attractive  and  accomplished  young  woman  afterwards 
became  the  wife  of   Sidney  Lanier,  America's   greatest   poet. 


56       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  ring  the  bell  and  waiting  there  till  somebody  came 
to  answer  it. 

The  colonel  and  his  party  left  on  the  one  o'clock  train 
that  night  for  Columbus,  where  they  expect  to  take 
the  boat  for  Apalachicola.  After  taking  leave  of  them 
I  went  to  bed,  and  if  ever  any  mortal  did  hard  sleeping, 
I  did  that  night.  Next  day  Mr.  Johnston  called  in  his 
carriage  and  brought  us  to  his  beautiful  home  on  Mul- 
berry St.,  where  we  are  lodged  like  princesses,  in  a 
bright,  sunny  room  that  makes  me  think  of  old  Chau- 
cer's lines  that  I  have  heard  Cousin  Liza  quote  so 
often : 

"  This  is  the  port  of  rest  from  troublous  toile, 
The  world's  sweet  inne  from  paine  and  wearisome  turmoile." 

[Note. — Several  pages  are  torn  from  the  manuscript  here. — 
Author.] 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  57 


CHAPTER  II 

PLANTATION    LIFE 

January  i — April  3,  1865 

Explanatory  Note. — During  the  period  embraced  in 
this  chapter  the  great  black  tide  of  destruction  that  had 
swept  over  Georgia  turned  its  course  northward  from 
Savannah  to  break  a  few  weeks  later  (Feb.  17)  in  a  cata- 
ract of  blood  and  fire  on  the  city  of  Columbia.  At  the 
same  time  the  great  tragedy  of  Andersonville  was  going 
on  under  our  eyes;  and  farther  off,  in  Old  Virginia,  Lee 
and  his  immortals  were  struggling  in  the  toils  of  the 
net  that  was  drawing  them  on  to  the  tragedy  of  Ap- 
pomattox. To  put  forward  a  trivial  narrative  of  every- 
day life  at  a  time  when  mighty  events  like  these  were 
taking  place  would  seem  little  less  than  an  impertinence, 
did  we  not  know  that  it  is  the  ripple  mark  left  on  the  sand 
that  shows  where  the  tide  came  in,  and  the  simple  un- 
dergrowth of  the  forest  gives  a  character  to  the  land- 
scape without  which  the  most  carefully-drawn  picture 
would  be  incomplete. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  mighty  drama  that  was  being 
enacted  around  us  reflected  itself  in  the  minutest  details 
of  life,  even  our  sports  and  amusements  being  colored 
by  it,  as  the  record  of  the  diary  will  show.  The 
present  chapter  opens  with  allusions  to  an  expedition 
sent  out  by  Sherman  from  Savannah  under  Gen.  Kil- 
patrick,  having  for  its  object  the  destruction  of  the  Stock- 


58        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

ade  at  Andersonville,  and  release  of  the  prisoners  to 
wreak  their  vengeance  on  the  people  whom  they  believed 
to  be  responsible  for  their  sufferings.  The  success  of 
this  movement  was  frustrated  only  by  the  incessant  rains 
of  that  stormy  winter,  which  flooded  the  intervening 
country  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  even  the  best 
equipped  cavalry  to  pass,  and  thus  averted  what  might 
have  been  the  greatest  tragedy  of  the  war. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dwell  upon  public  events  in 
these  pages,  nor  to  revive  the  dark  memories  of  Ander- 
sonville, but  a  few  words  concerning  it  are  necessary  to 
a  clear  understanding  of  the  allusions  made  to  it  in  this 
part  of  the  record,  and  to  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
position  of  the  Southern  people  in  regard  to  that  deplo- 
rable episode  of  the  war.  Owing  to  the  policy  of  the 
Federal  Government  in  refusing  to  exchange  prisoners, 
and  to  the  ruin  and  devastation  of  war,  which  made  it 
impossible  for  the  Confederate  government  to  provide 
adequately  for  its  own  soldiers,  even  with  the  patriotic 
aid  of  our  women,  the  condition  of  our  prisons  was  any- 
thing but  satisfactory,  both  from  lack  of  supplies  and 
from  the  unavoidable  over-crowding  caused  by  the  fail- 
ure of  all  efforts  to  effect  an  exchange.  Mr.  Tanner, 
ex-Commander  of  the  G.  A.  R.,  who  is  the  last  person  in 
the  world  whom  one  would  think  of  citing  as  a  witness  for 
the  South,  bears  this  unconscious  testimony  to  the  force  of 
circumstances  that  made  it  impossible  for  our  govern- 
ment to  remedy  that  unhappy  situation : 

"  It  is  true  that  more  prisoners  died  in  Northern  prisons  than 
Union  prisoners  died  in  Southern  prisons.  The  explanation  of 
this  is  extremely  simple.  The  Southern  prisoners  came  North 
worn  and  emaciated — half  starved.  They  had  reached  this  con- 
dition because  of  their  scant  rations.  They  came  from  a  mild 
climate   to    a    rigorous    Northern    climate,    and,    although    we 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  59 

gave  them  shelter  and  plenty  to  eat,  they  could  not  stand  the 
change." 

This  argument,  intended  as  a  defense  of  the  North, 
is  a  boomerang  whose  force  as  a  weapon  for  the  other 
side  it  is  unnecessary  to  point  out.  Whether  the  condi- 
tions at  Andersonville  might  have  been  ameliorated  by 
the  personal  efforts  of  those  in  charge,  I  do  not  know. 
I  never  met  Capt.  Wirz,  but  I  do  know  that  had  he 
been  an  angel  from  heaven,  he  could  not  have  changed 
the  pitiful  tale  of  suffering  from  privation  and  hunger 
unless  he  had  possessed  the  power  to  repeat  the  miracle 
of  the  loaves  and  fishes.  I  do  know,  too,  that  the 
sufferings  of  the  prisoners  were  viewed  with  the  deepest 
compassion  by  the  people  of  the  neighborhood,  as  the 
diary  will  show,  and  they  would  gladly  have  relieved 
them  if  they  had  been  able.  In  the  fall  of  1864,  when 
it  was  feared  that  Sherman  would  send  a  raid  to  free 
the  prisoners  and  turn  them  loose  upon  the  defenseless 
country,  a  band  of  several  thousand  were  shipped  round 
by  rail  to  Camp  Lawton,  near  Millen,  to  get  them  out 
of  his  way.  Later,  when  he  had  passed  on,  after  destroy- 
ing the  railroads,  these  men  were  marched  back  overland 
to  Andersonville,  and  the  planters  who  lived  along  the 
road  had  hampers  filled  with  such  provisions  as  could  be 
hastily  gotten  together  and  placed  before  them.  Among 
those  who  did  this  were  my  sister,  Mrs.  Troup  Butler, 
and  her  neighbors,  the  Bacons,  so  frequently  mentioned  in 
this  part  of  the  diary.  My  sister  says  that  she  had  every 
drop  of  milk  and  clabber  in  her  dairy  brought  out  and 
given  to  the  poor  fellows,  and  she  begged  the  officer  to 
let  them  wait  till  she  could  have  what  food  she  could 
spare  cooked  for  them.  This,  however,  being  impossible, 
she  had  potatoes  and  turnips  and  whatever  else  could  be 
eaten  raw,  hastily  collected  by  the  servants  and  strewn  in 


60        THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

the  road  before  them.  I  have  before  me,  as  I  write,  a 
very  kind  letter  from  an  old  Union  soldier,  in  which  he 
says  that  he  was  one  of  the  men  fed  on  this  occasion, 
and  he  adds :  "  I  still  feel  thankful  for  the  help  we  got 
that  day."  He  gives  his  name  as  S.  S.  Andrews,  Co.  K, 
64th  Ohio  Vols.,  and  his  present  address  as  Tularosa, 
Mexico. 

But  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  men  half -crazed  by 
suffering  and  for  the  most  part  ignorant  of  their  own 
government's  responsibility  in  the  matter,  should  dis- 
criminate very  closely  in  apportioning  the  blame  for  their 
terrible  condition.  Accustomed  to  the  bountiful  pro- 
vision made  for  its  soldiers  by  the  richest  nation  in  the 
world,  they  naturally  enough  could  not  see  the  tragic 
humor  of  their  belief,  when  suddenly  reduced  to  Con- 
federate army  rations,  that  they  were  the  victims  of  a 
deliberate  plot  to  starve  them  to  death ! 

Another  difficulty  with  which  the  officers  in  charge  of 
the  stockade  had  to  contend  was  the  lack  of  a  sufficient 
force  to  guard  so  large  a  body  of  prisoners.  At  one  time 
there  were  over  35,000  of  them  at  Andersonville  alone — 
a  number  exceeding  Lee's  entire  force  at  the  close  of 
the  siege  of  Petersburg.  The  men  actually  available  for 
guarding  this  great  army,  were  never  more  than  1,200  or 
1,500,  and  these  were  drawn  from  the  State  Reserves, 
consisting  of  boys  under  eighteen  and  invalided  or  super- 
annuated men  unfit  for  active  service.  At  almost  any 
time  during  the  year  1864-1865,  if  the  prisoners  had 
realized  the  weakness  of  their  guard,  they  could,  by  a 
concerted  assault,  have  overpowered  them.  At  the  time 
of  Kilpatrick's  projected  raid,  their  numbers  had  been 
reduced  to  about  7,500,  by  distributing  the  excess  to  other 
points  and  by  the  humane  action  of  the  Confederate  au- 
thorities in  releasing,  without  equivalent,  15,000  sick  and 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  61 

wounded,  and  actually  forcing  them,  as  a  free  gift,  upon 
the  unwilling  hospitality  of  their  own  government. 

But  even  allowing  for  this  diminution,  the  conse- 
quences of  turning  loose  so  large  a  body  of  men,  natu- 
rally incensed  and  made  desperate  by  suffering,  to  incite 
the  negroes  and  ravage  the  country,  while  there  were  only 
women  and  children  and  old  men  left  on  the  plantations 
to  meet  their  fury,  can  hardly  be  imagined,  even  by  those 
who  have  seen  the  invasion  of  an  organized  army.  The 
consternation  of  my  father,  when  he  found  that  he  had 
sent  us  into  the  jaws  of  this  danger  instead  of  the  security 
and  rest  he  had  counted  on,  cannot  be  described.  Hap- 
pily, the  danger  was  over  before  he  knew  of  its  existence, 
but  communication  was  so  slow  and  uncertain  in  those 
days  that  a  long  correspondence  at  cross  purposes  ensued 
before  his  mind  was  set  at  rest. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  the  modern  reader  that  in  the 
midst  of  such  tremendous  happenings  we  could  find  it  in 
our  hearts  to  go  about  the  common  business  of  life; 
to  laugh  and  dance  and  be  merry  in  spite  of  the  crumbling 
of  the  social  fabric  about  us.  But  so  it  has  always  been ; 
so  it  was  "  in  the  days  of  Noe,"  and  so,  we  are  told, 
will  it  be  "  in  the  end  of  the  world."  Youth  will  have 
its  innings,  and  never  was  social  life  in  the  old  South 
more  full  of  charm  than  when  tottering  to  its  fall.  South- 
west Georgia,  being  the  richest  agricultural  section  of 
the  State,  and  remote  from  the  scene  of  military  opera- 
tions, was  a  favorite  resort  at  that  time  for  refugees 
from  all  parts  of  the  seceded  States,  and  the  society 
of  every  little  country  town  was  as  cosmopolitan  as  that 
of  our  largest  cities  had  been  before  the  war.  The  dearth 
of  men  available  for  social  functions  that  was  so  con- 
spicuous in  other  parts  of  the  Confederacy  remote  from 
the  seat  of  war,  did  not  exist  here,  because  the  impor- 


62        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

tance  of  so  rich  an  agricultural  region  as  a  source  of  food 
supply  for  our  armies,  and  the  quartering  of  such  large 
bodies  of  prisoners  at  Andersonville  and  Millen,  neces- 
sitated the  presence  of  a  large  number  of  officers  con- 
nected with  the  commissary  and  quartermaster's  depart- 
ments. These  were,  for  the  most  part,  men  who,  on 
account  of  age,  or  chronic  infirmity,  or  injuries  received 
in  battle,  were  unfit  for  service  in  the  field.  There  were 
large  hospitals,  too,  in  all  the  towns  and  villages  to  which 
disabled  soldiers  from  the  front  were  sent  as  fast  as 
they  were  able  to  bear  the  transportation,  in  order  to 
relieve  the  congestion  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  armies. 
Those  whose  wounds  debarred  them  from  further  serv- 
ice, and  whose  homes  were  in  possession  of  the  enemy, 
were  received  into  private  houses  and  cared  for  by  the 
women  of  the  South  till  the  end  of  the  war. 

My  sister's  white  family  at  the  time  of  our  arrival 
consisted  of  herself  and  two  little  children,  Tom  and 
Julia,  and  Mr.  Butler's  invalid  sister,  Mrs.  Julia  Meals,  a 
pious  widow  of  ample  means  which  it  was  her  chief  ambi- 
tion in  life  to  spend  in  doing  good.  The  household  was 
afterwards  increased  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Julia  Butler 
(also  called  in  the  diary,  Mrs.  Green  Butler)  the  widow 
of  Mr.  Greenlee  Butler,  who  had  died  not  long  before 
in  the  army.  He  was  the  elder  and  only  brother  of  my 
sister's  husband.  Col.  Maxwell,  of  Gopher  Hill,  was  an 
uncle  of  my  brother-in-law,  the  owner  of  several  large 
plantations,  where  he  was  fond  of  practicing  the  old- 
time  Southern  hospitality.  The  "  Cousin  Boiling  "  so  fre- 
quently mentioned,  was  Dr.  Boiling  A.  Pope,  a  stepson 
of  my  mother's  youngest  sister,  Mrs.  Alexander  Pope, 
of  Washington,  Ga.,  the  "  Aunt  Cornelia  "  spoken  of  in  a 
later  chapter.  He  was  in  Berlin  when  the  war  began, 
where  he  had  spent  several  years  preparing  himself  as  a 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  63 

specialist  in  diseases  of  the  eye  and  ear,  but  returned 
when  hostilities  began,  and  was  assigned  to  duty  as  a 
surgeon.  The  Tallassee  Plantation  to  which  reference 
is  made,  was  an  estate  owned  by  my  father  near  Albany, 
Ga.,  where  the  family  were  in  the  habit  of  spending  the 
winters,  until  he  sold  it  and  transferred  his  principal 
planting  interests  to  the  Yazoo  Delta  in  Mississippi. 
Mt.  Enon  was  a  little  log  church  where  services  were 
held  by  a  refugee  Baptist  minister,  and,  being  the  only 
place  of  worship  in  the  neighborhood,  was  attended  by 
people  of  all  denominations.  The  different  homes  and 
families  mentioned  were  those  of  well-known  planters 
in  that  section,  or  of  refugee  friends  who  had  temporarily 
taken  up  their  abode  there. 


Jan.  1st,  1865.  Sunday.  Pine  Bluff. — A  beautiful 
clear  day,  but  none  of  us  went  to  church.  Sister  was 
afraid  of  the  bad  roads,  Metta,  Mrs.  Meals,  Julia  and 
I  all  sick.     I  think  I  am  taking  measles. 

Jan.  11,  Wednesday. — I  am  just  getting  well  of 
measles,  and  a  rough  time  I  had  of  it.  Measles  is  no  such 
small  affair  after  all,  especially  when  aggravated  by 
perpetual  alarms  of  Yankee  raiders.  For  the  last  week 
we  have  lived  in  a  state  of  incessant  fear.  All  sorts  of 
rumors  come  up  the  road  and  down  it,  and  we  never 
know  what  to  believe.  Mett  and  I  have  received  re- 
peated letters  from  home  urging  our  immediate  return, 
but  of  course  it  was  impossible  to  travel  while  I  was  sick 
in  bed,  and  even  now  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  under- 
take that  terrible  journey  across  the  burnt  country 
again.     While  I  was  ill,  home  was  the  one  thought 


64        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

that  haunted  my  brain,  and  if  I  ever  do  get  back,  I 
hope  I  will  have  sense  enough  to  stay  there.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  suffered  so  much  before  in  all  my  life,  and 
dread  of  the  Yankees  raised  my  fever  to  such  a  pitch 
that  I  got  no  rest  by  night  or  day.  I  used  to  feel  very 
brave  about  Yankees,  but  since  I  have  passed  over 
Sherman's  track  and  seen  what  devastation  they 
make,  I  am  so  afraid  of  them  that  I  believe  I  should 
drop  down  dead  if  one  of  the  wretches  should  come 
into  my  presence.  I  would  rather  face  them  anywhere 
than  here  in  South-West  Georgia,  for  the  horrors  of 
the  stockade  have  so  enraged  them  that  they  will  have 
no  mercy  on  this  country,  though  they  have  brought  it 
all  on  themselves,  the  cruel  monsters,  by  refusing  to 
exchange  prisoners.  But  it  is  horrible,  and  a  blot  on 
the  fair  name  of  our  Confederacy.  Mr.  Robert  Bacon 
says  he  has  accurate  information  that  on  the  first  of 
December,  1864,  there  were  13,010  graves  at  Ander- 
son. It  is  a  dreadful  record.  I  shuddered  as  I  passed 
the  place  on  the  cars,  with  its  tall  gibbet  full  of  hor- 
rible suggestiveness  before  the  gate,  and  its  seething 
mass  of  humanity  inside,  like  a  swarm  of  blue  flies 
crawling  over  a  grave.  It  is  said  that  the  prisoners 
have  organized  their  own  code  of  laws  among  them- 
selves, and  have  established  courts  of  justice  before 
which  they  try  offenders,  and  that  they  sometimes 
condemn  one  of  their  number  to  death.  It  is  horrible 
to  think  of,  but  what  can  we  poor  Confederates  do? 
The  Yankees  won't  exchange  prisoners,  and  our  own 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  65 

soldiers  in  the  field  don't  fare  much  better  than  these 
poor  creatures.  Everybody  is  sorry  for  them,  and 
wouldn't  keep  them  here  a  day  if  the  government  at 
Washington  didn't  force  them  on  us.  And  yet  they 
lay  all  the  blame  on  us.  Gen.  Sherman  told  Mr.  Cuy- 
ler  that  he  did  not  intend  to  leave  so  much  as  a  blade 
of  grass  in  South-West  Georgia,  and  Dr.  Janes  told 
sister  that  he  (Sherman)  said  he  would  be  obliged  to 
send  a  formidable  raid  here  in  order  to  satisfy  the 
clamors  of  his  army,  though  he  himself,  the  fiend 
Sherman,  dreaded  it  on  account  of  the  horrors  that 
would  be  committed.  What  Sherman  dreads  must 
indeed  be  fearful.  They  say  his  soldiers  have  sworn 
that  they  will  spare  neither  man,  woman  nor  child  in 
all  South-West  Georgia.  It  is  only  a  question  of 
time,  I  suppose,  when  all  this  will  be  done.  It  begins 
to  look  as  if  the  Yankees  can  do  whatever  they  please 
and  go  wherever  they  wish — except  to  heaven;  I  do 
fervently  pray  the  good  Lord  will  give  us  rest  from 
them  there. 

While  I  was  at  my  worst,  Mrs.  Lawton  came  out 
with  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  George  Lawton,  and  Dr. 
Richardson,  Medical  Director  of  Bragg's  army,  to 
make  sister  a  visit.  The  doctor  came  into  my  room 
and  prescribed  for  me  and  did  me  more  good  by  his 
cheerful  talk  than  by  his  prescription.  He  told  me 
not  to  think  about  the  Yankees,  and  said  that  he  would 
come  and  carry  me  away  himself  before  I  should  fall 
into  their  hands.     His  medicine  nearly  killed  me.     It 


66       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

was  a  big  dose  of  opium  and  whisky,  that  drove  me 
stark  crazy,  but  when  I  came  to  myself  I  felt  much 
better.  Dr.  Janes  was  my  regular  physician  and  had 
the  merit  of  not  giving  much  medicine,  but  he  fright- 
ened  me  horribly  with  his  rumors  abflH»B|Be 
raiders.  We  are  safe  from  them  for  the  fluent,  at 
any  rate,  I  hope;  the  swamps  of  the  Altamaha  are  so 
flooded  that  it  would  take  an  army  of  Tritons  to  get 
over  them  now. 

All  this  while  that  I  have  been  sick,  Metta  has  been 
going  about  enjoying  herself  famously.  There  is  a 
party  at  Mr.  Callaway's  from  Americus,  which  makes 
the  neighborhood  very  gay.  Everybody  has  called, 
but  I  had  to  stay  shut  up  in  my  room  and  miss  all  the 
fun.  .  .  .  Brother  Troup  has  come  down  from  Macon 
on  a  short  furlough,  bringing  with  him  a  Maj.  Higgins 
from  Mississippi,  who  is  much  nicer  than  his  name. 
He  is  a  cousin  of  Dr.  Richardson.  The  rest  of  the 
family  were  out  visiting  all  the  morning,  leaving  me 
with  Mrs.  Meals,  who  entertained  me  by  reading  aloud 
from  Hannah  More.  As  my  eyes  are  still  too  weak 
from  measles  for  me  to  read  much  myself,  I  was  glad 
to  be  edified  by  Hannah  More,  rather  than  be  left  to 
my  own  dull  company.  The  others  came  back  at 
three,  and  then,  just  as  we  were  sitting  down  to 
dinner,  the  Mallarys  called  and  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day.  We  ate  no  supper,  but  went  to  bed  on  an  egg- 
nog  at  midnight. 

Jan.  12,  Thursday. — The  rest  of  them  out  visiting 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  67 

again  all  the  morning,  leaving  me  to  enjoy  life  with 
Mrs.  Meals  and  Hannah  More.  The  Edwin  Bacons 
and  Merrill  Callaway  and  his  bride  were  invited  to 
spend  the^  evening  with  us  and  I  found  it  rather  dull. 
nl  pk  enough  to  be  a  bore  to  myself  and  every- 
bodyejr  Merrill  has  married  Katy  Furlow,  of 
Americus,  and  she  says  that  soon  after  my  journey 
home  last  spring  she  met  my  young  Charlestonian,  and 
that  he  went  into  raptures  over  me,  and  said  he  never 
was  so  delighted  with  anybody  in  his  life,  so  it  seems 
the  attraction  was  mutual.  I  have  a  letter  from  Tolie; 
she  is  living  in  Montgomery,  supremely  happy,  of 
course,  as  a  bride  should  be.  She  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed at  my  absence  from  the  wedding.  The  city 
is  very  gay,  she  says,  and  everybody  inquiring  about 
me  and  wanting  me  to  come.  If  I  wasn't  afraid  the 
Yankees  might  cut  me  off  from  home  and  sister,  too, 
I  would  pick  up  and  go  now.  Yankee,  Yankee,  is  the 
one  detestable  word  always  ringing  in  Southern  ears. 
If  all  the  words  of  hatred  in  every  language  under 
heaven  were  lumped  together  into  one  huge  epithet  of 
detestation,  they  could  not  tell  how  I  hate  Yankees. 
They  thwart  all  my  plans,  murder  my  friends,  and 
make  my  life  miserable. 

Jan.  13th,  Friday. — Col.  Blake,  a  refugee  from 
Mississippi,  and  his  sister-in-law,  Miss  Connor,  dined 
with  us.  While  the  gentlemen  lingered  over  their 
wine  after  dinner,  we  ladies  sat  in  the  parlor  making] 
cigarettes  for  them.     The  evening  was  spent  at  cards,| 


68        THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

which  bored  me  not  a  little,  for  I  hate  cards;  they  are 
good  for  nothing  but  to  entertain  stupid  visitors  with, 
and  Col.  Blake  and  Miss  Connor  do  not  belong  in  that 
category.  Mett  says  she  don't  like  the  old  colonel  be- 
cause he  is  too  pompous,  but  that  amuses  me, — and 
then,  he  is  such  a  gentleman. 

The  newspapers  bring  accounts  of  terrible  floods  all 
over  the  country.  Three  bridges  are  washed  away  on 
the  Montgomery  &  West  Point  R.R.,  so  that  settles 
the  question  of  going  to  Montgomery  for  the  present. 
Our  fears  about  the  Yankees  are  quieted,  too,  there 
being  none  this  side  of  the  Altamaha,  and  the  swamps 
impassable. 

Jan.  14th,  Saturday. — Brother  Troup  and  Maj. 
Higgins  left  for  Macon,  and  sister  drove  to  Albany 
with  them.  She  expects  to  stay  there  till  Monday  and 
then  bring  Mrs.  Sims  out  with  her.  We  miss  Maj. 
Higgins  very  much;  he  was  good  company,  in  spite  of 
that  horrible  name.  Jim  Chiles  called  after  dinner, 
with  his  usual  budget  of  news,  and  after  him  came 
Albert  Bacon  to  offer  us  the  use  of  his  father's  car- 
riage while  sister  has  hers  in  Albany. 

Father  keeps  on  writing  for  us  to  come  home. 
Brother  Troup  says  he  can  send  us  across  the  country 
from  Macon  in  a  government  wagon,  with  Mr.  Forline 
for  an  escort,  if  the  rains  will  ever  cease;  but  we  can't 
go  now  on  account  of  the  bad  roads  and  the  floods  up 
the  country.  Bridges  are  washed  away  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  the  water  courses  impassable. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GlRL  69 

Jan.  i$th,  Sunday. — Went  to  church  at  Mt.  Enon 
with  Albert  Bacon,  and  saw  everybody.  It  was  pleas- 
ant to  meet  old  friends,  but  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  poor  Annie  Chiles's  grave  at  the  church  door.  One 
missing  in  a  quiet  country  neighborhood  like  this 
makes  a  great  gap.  This  was  the  Sunday  for  Dr.  Hill- 
yer  to  preach  to  the  negroes  and  administer  the  com- 
munion to  them.  They  kept  awake  and  looked  very 
much  edified  while  the  singing  was  going  on,  but  most 
of  them  slept  through  the  sermon.  The  women  were 
decked  out  in  all  their  Sunday  finery  and  looked  so 
picturesque  and  happy.  It  is  a  pity  that  this  glorious 
old  plantation  life  should  ever  have  to  come  to  an  end. 

Albert  Bacon  dined  with  us  and  we  spent  the  after- 
noon planning  for  a  picnic  at  Mrs.  Henry  Bacons  lake 
on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday.  The  dear  old  lake !  I 
want  to  see  it  again  before  its  shores  are  desecrated  by 
Yankee  feet. 

I  wish  sister  would  hurry  home,  on  account  of  the 
servants.  We  can't  take  control  over  them,  and  they 
won't  do  anything  except  just  what  they  please.  As 
soon  as  she  had  gone,  Mr.  Ballou,  the  overseer,  took 
himself  off  and  only  returned  late  this  evening.  Har- 
riet, Mrs.  Green  Butler's  maid,  is  the  most  trifling  of 
the  lot,  but  I  can  stand  anything  from  her  because  she 
refused  to  go  off  with  the  Yankees  when  Mrs.  Butler 
had  her  in  Marietta  last  summer.  Her  mother  went, 
and  tried  to  persuade  Harriet  to  go,  too,  but  she 
said :    "  I    loves    Miss    Julia    a    heap    better'n   I    do 


;o       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

you,"  and  remained  faithful.  Sister  keeps  her  here 
because  Mrs.  Butler  is  a  refugee  and  without  a  home 
herself. 

Jan.  1 6,  Monday. — Sister  has  come  back,  bringing 
dear  little  Mrs.  Sims  with  her.  Metta  and  I  are  to 
spend  next  week  in  Albany  with  Mrs.  Sims,  if  we  are 
not  all  water-bound  in  the  meantime,  at  Pine  Bluff. 
The  floods  are  subsiding  up  the  country,  but  the 
waters  are  raging  down  here.  Flint  River  is  out  of 
its  banks,  the  low  grounds  are  overflowed,  and  the 
backwater  has  formed  a  lake  between  the  negro 
quarter  and  the  house,  that  reaches  to  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  door.  So  much  the  better  for  us,  as  Kil- 
patrick  and  his  raiders  can  never  make  their  way 
through  all  these  floods. 

Sister  is  greatly  troubled  about  a  difficulty  two  of 
her  negroes,  Jimboy  and  Alfred,  have  gotten  into. 
They  are  implicated  with  some  others  who  are  accused 
of  stealing  leather  and  attacking  a  white  man.  Alfred 
is  a  great,  big,  horrid-looking  creature,  more  like  an 
orang-outang  than  a  man,  though  they  say  he  is  one 
of  the  most  peaceable  and  humble  negroes  on  the 
plantation,  and  Jimboy  has  never  been  known  to  get 
into  any  mischief  before.  I  hope  there  is  some  mis- 
take, though  the  negroes  are  getting  very  unruly  since 
the  Yankees  are  so  near. 

Jan.  17,  Tuesday. — The  river  still  rising  and  all  the 
water-courses  so  high  that  I  am  afraid  the  stage  won't 
be  able  to  pass  between  Albany  and  Thomasville,  and 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  71 

we  sha'n't  get  our  mail.  There  is  always  something 
the  matter  to  keep  us  from  getting  the  mail  at  that 
little  Gum  Pond  postofhce.  Mrs.  Sims  is  water-bound 
with  us,  and  it  is  funny  to  hear  her  and  Mrs.  Meals, 
one  a  red-hot  Episcopalian,  the  other  a  red-hot  Bap- 
tist, trying  to  convert  each  other.  If  the  weather  is 
any  sign,  Providence  would  seem  to  favor  the  Baptists 
just  now. 

Mrs.  Sims  almost  made  me  cry  with  her  account  of 
poor  Mary  Millen — her  brother  dead,  their  property 
destroyed;  it  is  the  same  sad  story  over  again  that  we 
hear  so  much  of.  This  dreadful  war  is  bringing  ruin 
upon  so  many  happy  homes. 

Jan.  19,  Thursday. — I  suffered  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to-day.  Mrs.  Stokes  Walton  gave  a  big  dining 
— everybody  in  the  neighborhood,  almost  everybody 
in  the  county  that  is  anybody  was  invited.  I  expected 
to  wear  that  beautiful  new  dress  that  ran  the  blockade 
and  I  have  had  so  few  opportunities  of  showing.  All 
my  preparations  were  made,  even  the  bows  of  ribbon 
pinned  on  my  undersleeves,  but  I  was  awakened  at 
daylight  by  the  pattering  of  rain  on  the  roof,  and 
knew  that  the  fun  was  up  for  me.  It  was  out  of  the 
question  for  one  just  up  from  an  attack  of  measles  to 
risk  a  ride  of  twelve  miles  in  such  a  pouring  rain,  so 
I  had  to  content  myself  to  stay  at  home  with  the  two 
old  ladies  and  be  edified  with  disquisitions  on  the 
Apostolic  Succession  and  Baptism  by  Immersion. 
They  are  both  good  enough  to  be  translated,  and  I 


72        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

can't  see  why  the  dear  little  souls  should  be  so  dis- 
turbed about  each  other's  belief.  Once,  when  Mrs. 
Meals  left  the  room  for  some  purpose,  Mrs.  Sims 
whispered  to  me  confidentially :  "  There  is  so  little 
gentility  among  these  dissenters — that  is  one  reason 
why  I  hate  to  see  her  among  them."  I  could  hardly 
keep  from  laughing  out,  but  that  is  what  a  good  deal 
of  our  religious  differences  amount  to.  I  confess  to 
a  strong  prejudice  myself,  in  favor  of  the  old  church 
in  which  I  was  brought  up;  still  I  don't  think  there 
ought  to  be  any  distinction  of  classes  or  races  in  re- 
ligion. We  all  have  too  little  "  gentility  "  in  the  sight 
of  God  for  that.  I  only  wish  I  stood  as  well  in  the 
recording  Angel's  book  as  many  a  poor  negro  that  I 
know. 

About  noon  a  cavalryman  stopped  at  the  door  and 
asked  for  dinner.  As  we  eat  late,  and  the  man  was 
in  too  big  a  hurry  to  wait,  sister  sent  him  a  cold  lunch 
out  in  the  entry.  It  was  raining  very  hard,  and  the 
poor  fellow  was  thoroughly  drenched,  so  after  he  had 
eaten,  sister  invited  him  to  come  into  the  parlor  and 
dry  himself.  It  came  out,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, that  he  was  from  our  own  part  of  Georgia,  and 
knew  a  number  of  good  old  Wilkes  County  families. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  the  Altamaha,  he  said,  and 
promised  to  do  his  best  to  keep  the  raiders  from  get- 
ting to  us. 

Jan.  21,  Saturday.  Albany,  Ga. — I  never  in  all  my 
life  knew  such  furious  rains  as  we  had  last  night;  it 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  73 

seemed  as  if  the  heavens  themselves  were  falling  upon 
us.  In  addition  to  the  uproar  among  the  elements, 
my  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  frightful  dreams  about 
Garnett.  Twice  during  the  night  I  dreamed  that  he 
was  dead  and  in  a  state  of  corruption,  and  I  couldn't 
get  anybody  to  bury  him.  Col.  Avery  and  Capt. 
Mackall  were  somehow  mixed  up  in  the  horrid  vision, 
trying  to  help  me,  but  powerless  to  do  so.  In  the 
morning,  when  we  waked,  I  found  that  Metta  also 
had  dreamed  of  Garnett's  death.  I  am  not  supersti- 
tious, but  I  can't  help  feeling  more  anxious  than  usual 
to  hear  news  of  my  darling  brother. 

The  rain  held  up  about  dinner  time  and  Mrs.  Sims 
determined  to  return  to  Albany,  in  spite  of  high  waters 
and  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  sky.  We  went  five 
miles  out  of  our  way  to  find  a  place  where  we  could 
ford  Wright's  Creek,  and  even  there  the  water  was 
almost  swimming.  Mett  and  I  were  frightened  out 
of  our  wits,  but  Mrs.  Sims  told  us  to  shut  our  eyes 
and  trust  to  Providence, — and  Providence  and  Uncle 
Aby  between  them  brought  us  through  in  safety.  At 
some  places  in  the  woods,  sheets  of  water  full  half  a 
mile  wide  and  from  one  to  two  feet  deep  were  running 
across  the  road,  on  their  way  to  swell  the  flood  in 
Flint  River.  Sister  sent  a  negro  before  us  on  a  mule 
to  see  if  the  water-courses  were  passable.  We  had 
several  bad  scares,  but  reached  town  in  safety  a  little 
after  dark. 

Jan.  22. — The  rains  returned  with  double  fury  in 


74       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  night  and  continued  all  day.  If  "  the  stars  in 
their  courses  fought  against  Sisera,"  it  looks  as  if 
the  heavens  were  doing  as  much  for  us  against  Kil- 
patrick  and  his  raiders.  There  was  no  service  at  St. 
Paul's,  so  Mrs.  Sims  kept  Metta  and  me  in  the  line  of 
duty  by  reading  aloud  High  Church  books  to  us.  They 
were  very  dull,  so  I  didn't  hurt  myself  listening.  After 
dinner  we  read  the  Church  service  and  sang  hymns 
until  relieved  by  a  call  from  our  old  friend,  Capt. 
Hobbs. 

Jan.  24,  Tuesday. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Welsh  spent  the 
evening  with  us.  Jim  Chiles  came  last  night  and  sat 
until  the  chickens  crowed  for  day.  Although  I  like 
Jimmy  and  enjoy  his  budget  of  news,  I  would  enjoy 
his  visits  more  if  he  knew  when  to  go  away.  I  never 
was  so  tired  and  sleepy  in  my  life,  and  cold,  too,  for 
we  had  let  the  fire  go  out  as  a  hint.  When  at  last  we 
went  to  our  room  I  nearly  died  laughing  at  the  way 
Metta  had  maneuvered  to  save  time.  She  had  loos- 
ened every  button  and  string  that  she  could  get  at  with- 
out being  seen,  while  sitting  in  the  parlor,  and  had 
now  only  to  give  herself  a  good  shake  and  she  was 
ready  for  bed. 

We  spent  the  morning  making  calls  with  Mrs.  Sims, 
and  found  among  the  refugees  from  South  Carolina 
a  charming  old  lady,  Mrs.  Brisbane.  Though  past 
fifty,  she  is  prettier  than  many  a  woman  of  half  her 
years,  and  her  manners  would  grace  a  court.  Her 
father  was  an  artist  of  note,  and  she  showed  us  some 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  75 

beautiful  pictures  painted  by  him.     After  dinner  we 
enjoyed  some  Florida  oranges  sent  by  Clinton  Spen-  I 
ser,  and  they  tasted  very  good,  in  the  absence  of  West  1 
India  fruits. 

Jan.  25,  Wednesday. — Dined  at  Judge  Vason's, 
where  there  was  a  large  company.  He  is  very  hospi- 
table and  his  house  is  always  full  of  people.  Albert 
Bacon  came  in  from  Gum  Pond  and  called  in  the  after- 
noon, bringing  letters,  and  the  letters  brought  permis- 
sion to  remain  in  South-West  Georgia  as  long  as  we 
please,  the  panic  about  Kilpatrick  having  died  out. 
I  would  like  to  be  at  home  now,  if  the  journey  were 
not  such  a  hard  one.  Garnett  and  Mrs.  Elzey  are 
both  there,  and  Mary  Day  is  constantly  expected.  I 
have  not  seen  Garnett  for  nearly  three  years.  He  has 
resigned  his  position  on  Gen.  Gardiner's  staff,  and  is 
going  to  take  command  of  a  battalion  of  "  galvanized 
Yankees,"  with  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel.  I 
don't  like  the  scheme.  I  have  no  faith  in  Yankees  of 
any  sort,  especially  these  miserable  turncoats  that  are 
ready  to  sell  themselves  to  either  side.  There  isn't 
gold  enough  in  existence  to  galvanize  one  of  them 
into  a  respectable  Confederate. 

Jan.  27,  Friday. — Mett  and  I  were  busy  returning 
calls  all  the  morning,  and  Mrs.  Sims,  always  in  a 
hurry,  sent  us  up  to  dress  for  Mrs.  Westmoreland's 
party  as  soon  as  we  had  swallowed  our  dinner,  so  we 
were  ready  by  dusk  and  had  to  sit  waiting  with  our 
precious  finery  on  until  our  escorts  came  for  us  at  nine 


76       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

o'clock.  Mrs.  Sims  is  one  of  these  fidgety  little  bodies 
that  is  always  in  a  rush  about  everything.  She  gal- 
lops through  the  responses  in  church  so  fast  that  she 
always  comes  out  long  ahead  of  everybody  else,  and 
even  eats  so  fast  that  Metta  and  I  nearly  choke  our- 
selves trying  to  keep  up  with  her.  We  hardly  ever 
get  enough,  as  we  are  ashamed  to  sit  at  table  too  long 
after  she  has  finished.  I  tried  one  day,  when  I  was 
very  hungry,  to  keep  up  with  her  in  eating  a  waffle, 
but  before  I  had  got  mine  well  buttered,  hers  was 
gone.  She  is  such  a  nice  housekeeper,  too,  and  has 
such  awfully  good  things  that  it  is  tantalizing  not  to  be 
able  to  take  time  to  enjoy  them. 

The  party  was  delightful.  Albany  is  so  full  of 
charming  refugees  and  Confederate  officers  and  their 
families  that  there  is  always  plenty  of  good  company, 
whatever  else  may  be  lacking.  I  danced  three  sets 
with  Joe  Godfrey,  but  I  don't  like  the  square  dances 
very  much.  The  Prince  Imperial  is  too  slow  and 
stately,  and  so  complicated  that  the  men  never  know 
what  to  do  with  themselves.  Even  the  Lancers  are 
tame  in  comparison  with  a  waltz  or  a  galop.  I  love 
the  galop  and  the  Deux  Temps  better  than  any.  We 
kept  it  up  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then 
walked  home. 

While  going  our  rounds  in  the  morning,  we  found 
a  very  important  person  in  Peter  Louis,  a  paroled 
Yankee  prisoner,  in  the  employ  of  Capt.  Bonham. 
The  captain  keeps  him  out  of  the  stockade,  feeds  and 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  77 

clothes  him,  and  in  return,  reaps  the  benefit  of  his 
skill.  Peter  is  a  French  Yankee,*  a  shoemaker  by 
trade,  and  makes  as  beautiful  shoes  as  I  ever  saw 
imported  from  France.  My  heart  quite  softened  to- 
wards him  when  I  saw  his  handiwork,  and  little  Mrs. 
Sims  was  so  overcome  that  she  gave  him  a  huge  slice 
of  her  Confederate  fruit  cake.  I  talked  French  with 
him,  which  pleased  him  greatly,  and  Mett  and  I  en- 
gaged him  to  make  us  each  a  pair  of  shoes.  I  will 
feel  like  a  lady  once  more,  with  good  shoes  on  my  feet. 
I  expect  the  poor  Yank  is  glad  to  get  away  from  An- 
derson on  any  terms.  Although  matters  have  im- 
proved somewhat  with  the  cool  weather,  the  tales  that 
are  told  of  the  condition  of  things  there  last  summer 
are  appalling.  Mrs.  Brisbane  heard  all  about  it  from 
Father  Hamilton,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  from 
Macon,  who  has  been  working  like  a  good  Samaritan 
in  those  dens  of  filth  and  misery.  It  is  a  shame  to 
us  Protestants  that  we  have  let  a  Roman  Catholic  get 
so  far  ahead  of  us  in  this  work  of  charity  and  mercy. 
Mrs.  Brisbane  says  Father  Hamilton  told  her  that 
during  the  summer  the  wretched  prisoners  burrowed 
in  the  ground  like  moles  to  protect  themselves  from 
the  sun.  It  was  not  safe  to  give  them  material  to 
build  shanties  as  they  might  use  it  for  clubs  to  over- 

*  Everybody  that  fought  in  the  Union  army  was  classed  by  us 
as  a  Yankee,  whether  Southern  Union  men,  foreigners,  or  negroes  ; 
hence  the  expressions  "Irish  Yankee,"  "Dutch  Yankee,"  "  black 
Yankee,"  etc.,  in  contradistinction  to  the  Simon-pure  native  prod- 
uct, "  the  Yankee  "par  excellence. 


78        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

come  the  guard.  These  underground  huts,  he  said, 
were  alive  with  vermin  and  stank  like  charnel  houses. 
Many  of  the  prisoners  were  stark  naked,  having  not 
so  much  as  a  shirt  to  their  backs.  He  told  a  pitiful 
story  of  a  Pole  who  had  no  garment  but  a  shirt,  and 
to  make  it  cover  him  the  better,  he  put  his  legs  into 
the  sleeves  and  tied  the  tail  round  his  neck.  The 
others  guyed  him  so  on  his  appearance,  and  the  poor 
wretch  was  so  disheartened  by  suffering,  that  one  day 
he  deliberately  stepped  over  the  deadline  and  stood 
there  till  the  guard  was  forced  to  shoot  him.  But 
what  I  can't  understand  is  that  a  Pole,  of  all  people 
in  the  world,  should  come  over  here  and  try  to  take 
away  our  liberty  when  his  own  country  is  in  the  hands 
of  oppressors.  One  would  think  that  the  Poles,  of 
all  nations  in  the  world,  ought  to  sympathize  with  a 
people  fighting  for  their  liberties.  Father  Hamilton 
said  that  at  one  time  the  prisoners  died  at  the  rate 
of  150  a  day,  and  he  saw  some  of  them  die  on  the 
ground  without  a  rag  to  lie  on  or  a  garment  to  cover 
them.  Dysentery  was  the  most  fatal  disease,  and  as 
they  lay  on  the  ground  in  their  own  excrements,  the 
smell  was  so  horrible  that  the  good  father  says  he  was 
often  obliged  to  rush  from  their  presence  to  get  a 
breath  of  pure  air.  It  is  dreadful.  My  heart  aches 
for  the  poor  wretches,  Yankees  though  they  are,  and 
I  am  afraid  God  will  suffer  some  terrible  retribution 
to  fall  upon  us  for  letting  such  things  happen.  If  the 
Yankees  ever  should  come  to  South-West  Georgia, 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  79 

and  go  to  Anderson  arid  see  the  graves  there,  God 
have  mercy  on  the  land !  And  yet,  what  can  we  do  ? 
The  Yankees  themselves  are  really  more  to  blame  than 
we,  for  they  won't  exchange  these  prisoners,  and  our 
poor,  hard-pressed  Confederacy  has  not  the  means  to 
provide  for  them,  when  our  own  soldiers  are  starving 
in  the  field.  Oh,  what  a  horrible  thing  war  is  when 
stripped  of  all  its  "  pomp  and  circumstance  " ! 

Jan.  28,  Saturday. — We  left  Albany  at  an  early 
hour.  Albert  Bacon  rode  out  home  in  the  carriage 
with  us,  and  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  him  by  pretend- 
ing to  be  too  sleepy  to  talk  and  so  leaving  him  free  to 
devote  himself  to  Mett.  Fortunately,  the  roads  have 
improved  since  last  Saturday,  and  we  were  not  so 
long  on  the  way.  We  found  sister  busy  with  prepa- 
rations for  Julia's  birthday  party,  which  came  off  in 
the  afternoon.  All  the  children  in  the  neighborhood 
were  invited  and  most  of  the  grown  people,  too.  The 
youngsters  were  turned  loose  in  the  backyard  to  play 
King's  Base,  Miley  Bright,  &c,  and  before  we  knew  it, 
we  grown  people  found  ourselves  as  deep  in  the  fun 
as  the  children.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  a  servant  came 
up  on  horseback  with  a  letter  for  sister.  It  proved  to 
be  a  note  from  Capt.  Hines  bespeaking  her  hospitality 
for  Gen.  Sam  Jones  and  staff,  and  of  course  she 
couldn't  refuse,  though  the  house  was  crowded  to 
overflowing  already.  She  had  hardly  finished  read- 
ing when  a  whole  cavalcade  of  horses  and  government 
wagons  came  rattling  up  to  the  door,  and  tire  general 


80       THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

and  one  of  his  aides  helped  two  ladies  and  their  chil- 
dren to  alight  from  an  ambulance  in  which  they  were 
traveling.  When  they  saw  what  a  party  we  had  on 
hand,  they  seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  but  sister 
laughed  away  their  fears,  and  sent  the  children  out  to 
join  the  others  in  the  backyard  and  left  the  ladies,  who 
were  introduced  as  Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Creighton, 
with  their  escorts,  in  the  parlor,  while  she  went  out 
to  give  orders  about  supper  and  make  arrangements 
for  their  accommodation.  Mrs.  Meals,  Metta,  and  I 
hustled  out  of  our  rooms  and  doubled  up  with  sister 
and  the  children.  Everybody  was  stowed  away  some- 
where, when,  just  before  bedtime,  two  more  aides, 
Capt.  Warwick,  of  Richmond,  and  Capt.  Frazer,  of 
Charleston,  rode  up  and  were  invited  to  come  in, 
though  the  house  was  so  crowded  that  sister  had  not 
even  a  pallet  on  the  floor  to  offer  them.  All  she  could 
do  was  to  give  them  some  pillows  and  tell  them  they 
were  welcome  to  stay  in  the  parlor  if  they  could  make 
themselves  comfortable  there.  People  are  used  to 
putting  up  with  any  sort  of  accommodations  these 
times  and  they  seemed  very  glad  of  the  shelter.  They 
said  it  was  a  great  deal  better  than  camping  out  in  the 
wagons,  as  they  had  been  doing,  and  with  the  help  of 
the  parlor  rugs  and  their  overcoats  and  army  blankets, 
they  could  make  themselves  very  comfortable.  They 
were  regular  thoroughbreds,  we  could  see,  and  Capt. 
Frazer  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  ever  laid  my 
eyes   on — a  great,   big,   splendid,    fair-haired   giant, 


A    GROUP   OF    CONFEDERATE    CHILDREN 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  81 

that  might  have  been  a  Viking  leader  if  he  had  lived 
a  thousand  years  ago. 

Sister  has  been  so  put  out  by  Mr.  Ballou  that  I  don't 
see  how  she  could  keep  her  temper  well  enough  to  be 
polite  to  anybody.  He  has  packed  up  and  taken  him- 
self off,  leaving  her  without  an  overseer,  after  giving 
but  one  day's  notice,  and  she  has  the  whole  responsi- 
bility of  the  plantation  and  all  these  negroes  on  her 
hands.  It  was  disgraceful  for  him  to  treat  her  so, 
and  Brother  Troup  off  at  the  war,  too. 

Jan.  29,  Sunday. — Breakfast  early  so  as  to  let  our 
general  and  staff  proceed  on  their  way,  as  they  said 
they  wanted  to  make  an  early  start.  Gen.  Jones  has 
recently  been  appointed  commandant  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  South  Georgia  and  Florida,  with  head- 
quarters at  Tallahassee.  It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
before  they  got  off.  Mr.  Robert  Bacon  says  he  met 
them  on  their  way,  and  they  told  him  they  were  so 
pleased  with  their  entertainment  at  sister's  that  they 
wished  they  could  have  staid  a  day  or  two  longer.  I 
had  a  good  long  talk  with  the  two  young  captains  be- 
fore they  left  and  they  were  just  as  nice  as  they  could 
be.  We  found  that  we  had  a  number  of  common 
friends,  and  Capt.  Warwick  knows  quite  well  the  Miss 
Lou  Randolph  in  Richmond  that  Garnett  writes  so 
much  about,  and  Rosalie  Beirne,*  too. 

Just  before  bedtime  we  were  startled  by  heavy  steps 
and  a  loud  knocking  at  the  front  door.     Having  no 

*  This  lady  my  brother  afterwards  married. 


82        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

white  man  within  three  miles,  not  even  an  overseer, 
we  were  a  little  startled,  but  mustered  courage,  sister, 
Mett,  and  I,  followed  by  two  or  three  of  the  negroes, 
to  go  to  the  door.  Instead  of  a  stray  Yankee,  or  a 
squad  of  deserters,  we  confronted  a  smart  young  Con- 
federate officer  in  such  a  fine  new  uniform  that  the 
sight  of  it  nearly  took  our  breath  away.  He  said  he 
was  going  to  the  Cochran  plantation,  but  got  lost  in 
the  pond  back  of  our  house  and  had  come  in  to  inquire 
his  way.  Sister  invited  him  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  he  sat  there  talking  with  us  till  one  of  the  servants 
could  saddle  a  mule  and  go  with  him  to  show  him  the 
road.  Sister  said  she  felt  mean  for  not  inviting  him 
to  spend  the  night,  but  she  was  too  tired  and  worried 
to  entertain  another  guest  now,  if  the  fate  of  the  Con- 
federacy depended  on  it.  His  uniform  was  too  fresh 
and  new  anyway  to  look  very  heroic. 

Jan.  31,  Tuesday. — Sister  and  I  spent  the  morning 
making  calls.  At  the  tithing  agent's  office,  where  she 
stopped  to  see  about  her  taxes,  we  saw  a  battalion  of 
Wheeler's  cavalry,  which  is  to  be  encamped  in  our 
neighborhood  for  several  weeks.  Their  business  is  to 
gather  up  and  take  care  of  broken-down  horses,  so  as 
to  fit  them  for  use  again  in  baggage  trains  and  the 
like.  At  the  postoffice  a  letter  was  given  me,  which 
I  opened  and  read,  thinking  it  was  for  me.  It  began 
"  Dear  Ideal  "  and  was  signed  "  Yours  forever."  I 
thought  at  first  that  Capt.  Hobbs  or  Albert  Bacon  was 
playing  a  joke  on  me,  but  on  making  inquiry  at  the 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  83 

office,  I  learned  that  there  is  a  cracker  girl  named 
Fanny  Andrews  living  down  somewhere  near  Gum 
Pond,  for  whom,  no  doubt,  the  letter  was  intended; 
so  I  remailed  it  to  her. 

As  we  were  sitting  in  the  parlor  after  supper,  there 
was  another  lumbering  noise  of  heavy  feet  on  the 
front  steps,  but  it  was  caused  by  a  very  different  sort 
of  visitor  from  the  one  we  had  Sunday  night.  A 
poor,  cadaverous  fellow  came  limping  into  the  room, 
and  said  he  was  a  wounded  soldier,  looking  for  work 
as  an  overseer.  He  gave  his  name  as  Etheridge,  and 
I  suspect,  from  his  manner,  that  he  is  some  poor  fellow 
who  has  seen  better  days.  Sister  engaged  him  on  the 
spot,  for  one  month,  as  an  experiment,  though  she  is 
afraid  he  will  not  be  equal  to  the  work. 

Feb.  2,  Thursday. — We  spent  the  evening  at  Maj. 
Edwin  Bacon's,  rehearsing  for  tableaux  and  theatri- 
cals, and  I  never  enjoyed  an  evening  more.  We  had 
no  end  of  fun,  and  a  splendid  supper,  with  ice  cream 
and  sherbet  and  cake  made  of  real  white  sugar.  I 
like  the  programme,  too,  and  my  part  in  it,  though  I 
made  some  of  the  others  mad  by  my  flat  refusal  to 
make  myself  ridiculous  by  taking  the  part  of  the  peri 
in  a  scene  from  Lalla  Rookh.  Imagine  poor  little 
ugly  me  setting  up  for  a  peri !  Wouldn't  people  laugh ! 
I  must  have  parts  with  some  acting ;  I  can't  run  on  my 
looks.  The  entertainment  is  to  take  place  at  sister's, 
and  all  the  neighborhood  and  a  number  of  people  from 
Albany  will  be  invited.     The  stage  will  be  erected  in 


84       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  wide  back  entry,  between  sister's  room  and  the 
dining-room,  which  will  serve  for  dressing-rooms. 
After  the  rehearsal  came  a  display  of  costumes  and 
a  busy  devising  of  dresses,  which  interested  me  very 
much.  I  do  love  pretty  clothes,  and  it  has  been  my 
fate  to  live  in  these  hard  war  times,  when  one  can 
have  so  little. 

Feb.  4,  Saturday. — We  met  in  the  schoolhouse  at 
Mt.  Enon  to  rehearse  our  parts,  but  everybody  seemed 
out  of  sorts  and  I  never  spent  a  more  disagreeable  two 
hours.  Mett  wouldn't  act  the  peri  because  she  had 
had  a  quarrel  with  her  penitent,  and  Miss  Lou  Bacon 
said  she  couldn't  take  the  part  of  Esther  before  Ahas- 
uerus  unless  she  could  wear  white  kid  gloves,  because 
she  had  burnt  one  of  her  fingers  pulling  candy,  and  a 
sore  finger  would  spoil  the  looks  of  her  hand.  Think 
of  Esther  touching  the  golden  scepter  with  a  pair  of 
modern  white  kid  gloves  on!  It  would  be  as  bad  as 
me  for  a  peri.  Mett  and  Miss  Lou  are  our  beauties, 
and  if  they  fail  us,  the  whole  thing  falls  through. 

Feb.  5,  Sunday. — Went  to  church  at  Mt.  Enon,  and 
did  my  best  to  listen  to  Dr.  Hillyer,  but  there  were  so 
many  troops  passing  along  the  road  that  I  could  keep 
neither  my  thoughts  nor  my  eyes  from  wandering. 
Jim  Chiles  came  home  to  dinner  with  us.  He  always 
has  so  much  news  to  tell  that  he  is  as  good  as  the 
county  paper,  and  much  more  reliable.  I  have  a  letter 
from  Lily  Legriel  *  asking  me  to  make  her  a  visit 
*  A  school  friend  of  the  writer. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  85 

before  I  go  home.  She  is  refugeeing  in  Macon,  and 
I  think  I  will  stop  a  few  days  as  I  pass  through. 

Feb.  9,  Thursday. — We  are  in  Albany — Mett,  Mrs. 
Meals,  and  I — on  our  way  to  Americus,  where  I  am 
going  to  consult  Cousin  Boiling  Pope  about  my  eyes. 
They  have  been  troubling  me  ever  since  I  had  measles. 
We  had  hardly  got  our  hats  off  when  Jim  Chiles  came 
panting  up  the  steps.  He  had  seen  the  carriage  pass 
through  town  and  must  run  round  at  once  to  see  if  a 
sudden  notion  had  struck  us  to  go  home.  After  tea 
came  Capt.  Hobbs,  the  Welshes,  and  a  Mr.  Green,  of 
Columbus,  to  spend  the  evening.  Mrs.  Welsh  gives 
a  large  party  next  Thursday  night,  to  which  we  are 
invited,  and  she  also  wants  me  to  stay  over  and  take 
part  in  some  theatricals  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospi- 
tals, but  I  have  had  enough  of  worrying  with  amateur 
theatricals  for  the  present. 

Feb.  10,  Friday. — We  had  to  get  up  very  early  to 
catch  the  seven  o'clock  train  to  Americus.  Jim  met 
us  at  the  depot,  though  there  were  so  many  of  our 
acquaintances  on  board  that  we  had  no  special  need 
of  an  escort.  Mr.  George  Lawton  sat  by  me  all  the 
way  from  Smithville  to  Americus,  and  insisted  on  our 
paying  his  family  a  visit  before  leaving  South-West 
Georgia.  I  wish  I  could  go,  for  he  lives  near  father's 
old  Tallassee  plantation  where  I  had  such  happy  times 
in  my  childhood;  but  if  we  were  to  accept  all  the  in- 
vitations that  come  to  us,  we  would  never  get  back 
home  again.     We  reached  Americus  at  ten  and  went 


86        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

straight  to  Cousin  Boiling's  hospital.  He  was  not 
there,  but  Dr.  Howard,  his  assistant,  told  us  he  was 
in  the  village  and  would  be  at  the  office  in  a  few  min- 
utes. All  along  the  streets,  as  we  were  making  our 
way  from  the  depot  to  the  hospital,  we  could  recognize 
his  patients  going  about  with  patches  and  shades  and 
blue  spectacles  over  their  eyes,  and  some  of  them  had 
blue  or  green  veils  on.  We  didn't  care  to  wait  at  the 
hospital  in  all  that  crowd  of  men,  so  we  started  out  to 
visit  the  shops,  intending  to  return  later  and  meet 
Cousin  Boiling.  We  had  gone  only  a  few  steps  when 
we  saw  him  coming  toward  us.  His  first  words  were 
the  announcement  that  he  was  married!  I  couldn't 
believe  him  at  first,  and  thought  he  was  joking.  Then 
he  insisted  that  we  should  go  home  with  him  and  see 
our  new  cousin.  We  felt  doubtful  about  displaying 
our  patched  up  Confederate  traveling  suits  before  a 
brand  new  bride  from  beyond  the  blockade,  with  trunk 
loads  of  new  things,  but  curiosity  got  the  better  of  us, 
and  so  we  agreed  to  go  home  with  him.  He  is  occupy- 
ing Col.  Maxwell's  house  while  the  family  are  on  the 
plantation  in  Lee  county.  When  we  reached  the 
house  with  Cousin  Boiling,  Mrs.  Pope — or  "  Cousin 
Bessie,"  as  she  says  we  must  call  her  now,  made  us 
feel  easy  by  sending  for  us  to  come  to  her  bedroom,  as 
there  was  no  fire  in  the  parlor,  and  she  would  not 
make  company  of  us.  She  was  a  Mrs.  Ayres,  before 
her  marriage  to  Cousin  Boiling,  a  young  widow  from 
Memphis,  Tenn.,  and  very  prominent  in  society  there. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  87 

She  is  quite  handsome,  and,  having  just  come  from 
beyond  the  lines,  her  beautiful  dresses  were  a  revela- 
tion to  us  dowdy  Confederates,  and  made  me  feel  like 
a  plucked  peacock.  Her  hair  was  arranged  in  three 
rolls  over  the  top  of  the  head,  on  each  side  of  the  part, 
in  the  style  called  "  cats,  rats,  and  mice,"  on  account 
of  the  different  size  of  the  rolls,  the  top  one  being  the 
largest.  It  was  very  stylish.  I  wish  my  hair  was 
long  enough  to  dress  that  way,  for  I  am  getting  very 
tired  of  frizzes;  they  are  so  much  trouble,  and  always 
will  come  out  in  wet  weather.  We  were  so  much  inter- 
ested that  we  stayed  at  Cousin  Boiling's  too  long  and 
had  to  run  nearly  all  the  way  back  to  the  depot  in  order 
to  catch  our  train.  On  the  cars  I  met  the  very  last  man 
I  would  have  expected  to  see  in  this  part  of  the  world 
— my  Boston  friend,  Mr.  Adams.  He  said  he  was  on 
his  way  to  take  charge  of  a  Presbyterian  church  in 
Eufaula,  Ala.  He  had  on  a  broadcloth  coat  and  a 
stovepipe  hat,  which  are  so  unlike  anything  worn  by 
our  Confederate  men  that  I  felt  uncomfortably  con- 
spicuous while  he  was  with  me.  I  am  almost  ashamed, 
nowadays,  to  be  seen  with  any  man  not  in  uniform, 
though  Mr.  Adams,  being  a  Northern  man  and  a  min- 
ister, could  not,  of  course,  be  expected  to  go  into  the 
army.  I  believe  he  is  sincere  in  his  Southern  sympa- 
thies, but  his  Yankee  manners  and  lingo  "  sorter  riles  " 
me,  as  the  darkies  say,  in  spite  of  reason  and  common 
sense.  He  talked  religion  all  the  way  to  Smithville, 
and    parted    with    some    pretty    sentiment   about    the 


88        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

"  sunbeam  I  had  thrown  across  his  path."  I  don't 
enjoy  that  sort  of  talk  from  men;  I  like  dash  and  flash 
and  fire  in  talk,  as  in  action. 

We  reached  Albany  at  four  o'clock,  and  after  a 
little  visit  to  Mrs.  Sims,  started  home,  where  we  ar- 
rived soon  after  dark,  without  any  adventure  except 
being  nearly  drowned  in  the  ford  at  Wright's  Creek. 

Feb.  ii,  Saturday. — Making  visits  all  day.  It  takes 
a  long  time  to  return  calls  when  people  live  so  far 
apart  and  every  mile  or  two  we  have  to  go  out  of  our 
way  to  avoid  high  waters.  Stokes  Walton's  creek 
runs  underground  for  several  miles,  so  that  when  the 
waters  are  high  we  leave  the  main  road  and  cross 
where  it  disappears  underground.  There  is  so  much 
water  now  that  the  subterranean  channel  can't  hold  it 
all,  so  it  flows  below  and  overflows  above  ground, 
making  a  two-storied  stream.  It  is  very  broad  and 
shallow  at  that  place,  and  beautifully  clear.  It  would 
be  a  charming  place  for  a  boating  excursion  because 
the  water  is  not  deep  enough  to  drown  anybody  if  they 
should  fall  overboard — but  if  the  bottom  should  drop 
out  of  the  road,  as  sometimes  happens  in  this  lime- 
stone country,  where  in  the  name  of  heaven  would 
we  go  to? 

Sister  and  I  spent  the  evening  at  Mrs.  Robert 
Bacon's.  The  Camps,  the  Edwin  Bacons,  Capt. 
Wynne,  and  Mrs.  Westmoreland  were  there.  We  en- 
joyed ourselves  so  much  that  we  didn't  break  up  till 
one  o'clock   Sunday  morning.     Mrs.   Westmoreland 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  89 

says  she  gave  Capt.  Sailes  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
me,  thinking  I  had  gone  back  to  Washington.  He 
and  John  Garnett,  one  of  our  far-off  Virginia  cousins, 
have  been  transferred  there. 

Feb.  12,  Sunday. — Spring  is  already  breaking  in 
this  heavenly  climate,  and  the  weather  has  been  lovely 
to-day.  The  yellow  jessamine  buds  begin  to  show 
their  golden  tips,  forget-me-nots  are  peeping  from 
under  the  wire  grass,  and  the  old  cherry  tree  by  the 
dairy  is  full  of  green  leaves.  Spring  is  so  beautiful;  I 
don't  wonder  the  spring  poet  breaks  loose  then.  Our 
"  piney  woods  "  don't  enjoy  a  very  poetical  reputation, 
but  at  this  season  they  are  the  most  beautiful  place  in 
the  world  to  me. 

I  went  over  to  the  quarter  after  dinner,  to  the 
"  Praise  House,"  to  hear  the  negroes  sing,  but  most 
of  them  had  gone  to  walk  on  the  river  bank,  so  I  did 
not  get  a  full  choir.  At  their  "  praise  meetings  "  they 
go  through  with  all  sorts  of  motions  in  connection 
with  their  songs,  but  they  won't  give  way  to  their 
wildest  gesticulations  or  engage  in  their  sacred  dances 
before  white  people,  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at. 
They  didn't  get  out  of  their  seats  while  I  was  there, 
but  whenever  the  "  sperrit  "  of  the  song  moved  them 
very  much,  would  pat  their  feet  and  flap  their  arms 
and  go  through  with  a  number  of  motions  that  re- 
minded me  of  the  game  of  "  Old  Dame  Wiggins  "  that 
we  used  to  play  when  we  were  children.  They  call 
these  native  airs  "  little  speritual  songs,"  in  contradis- 


90       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

tinction  to  the  hymns  that  the  preachers  read  to  them 
in  church,  out  of  a  book,  and  seem  to  enjoy  them  a 
great  deal  more.  One  of  them  has  a  quick,  lively 
melody,  which  they  sing  to  a  string  of  words  like 
these : 

"  Mary  an'  Marthy,  feed  my  lambs, 
Feed  my  lambs,  feed  my  lambs ; 
Mary  an'  Marthy,  feed  my  lambs, 
Settin'  on  de  golden  altar. 
I  weep,  I  moan  ;  what  mek  I  moan  so  slow? 
I  won'er  ef  a  Zion  traveler  have  gone  along  befo'. 
Mary  an'  Marthy,  feed  my  lambs,"  etc. 

"  Paul  de  'postle,  feed  my  lambs, 
Feed  my  lambs,  feed  my  lambs.    ..." 

and  so  on,  through  as  many  Bible  names  as  they  could 
think  of.  Another  of  their  "  sperrituals  "  runs  on 
this  wise : 

"  I  meet  my  soul  at  de  bar  of  God, 
I  heerd  a  mighty  lumber. 
Hit  was  my  sin  fell  down  to  hell 
Jes'  like  a  clap  er  thunder. 
Mary  she  come  runnin'  by, 
Tell  how  she  weep  an'  wonder. 
Mary  washin'  up  Jesus'  feet, 
De  angel  walkin'  up  de  golden  street, 
Run  home,  believer;  oh,  run  home,  believer! 
Run  home,  believer,  run  home." 

Another  one,  sung  to  a  kind  of  chant,  begins  this  way: 

"  King  Jesus  he  tell  you 
Fur  to  fetch  'im  a  hoss  an'  a  mule ; 
He  tek  up  Mary  behine  'im, 
King  Jesus  he  went  marchin'  befo'. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  9" 

Chorus.— 

"  Christ  was  born  on  Chris'mus  day  ; 
Mary  was  in  pain. 
Christ  was  born  on  Chris'mus  day, 
King  Jesus  was  his  name." 

The  chorus  to  another  of  their  songs  is: 

"  I  knowed  it  was  a  angel, 
I  knowed  it  by  de  groanin'." 

I  mean  to  make  a  collection  of  these  songs  some 
day  and  keep  them  as  a  curiosity.  The  words  are 
mostly  endless  repetitions,  with  a  wild  jumble  of  mis- 
fit Scriptural  allusions,  but  the  tunes  are  inspiring. 
They  are  mostly  a  sort  of  weird  chant  that  makes 
me  feel  all  out  of  myself  when  I  hear  it  way  in  the 
night,  too  far  off  to  catch  the  words.  I  wish  I  was 
musician  enough  to  write  down  the  melodies;  they 
are  worth  preserving. 

Feb.  13,  Monday. — Letters  from  home.  Our  house 
is  full  of  company,  as  it  always  is,  only  more  so.  All 
the  Morgans  are  there,  and  Mary  Day,  and  the  Gard- 
ners from  Augusta,  besides  a  host  of  what  one  might 
call  transients,  if  father  was  keeping  a  hotel — friends, 
acquaintances,  and  strangers  whom  the  tide  of  war 
has  stranded  in  little  Washington.  Mrs.  Gairdner's 
husband  was  an  officer  in  the  English  army  at  Water- 
loo, and  a  schoolmate  of  Lord  Byron,  and  her  sons 
are  brave  Confederates — which  is  better  than  any- 
thing else.  Mary  Day  had  typhoid  fever  in  Augusta. 
She  is  too  weak  to  make  the  journey  from  Mayfield 


92        THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  Macon,  and  all  non-combatants  have  been  ordered 
to  leave  Augusta,  so  mother  invited  her  to  Haywood. 
Oh,  that  dear  old  home !  I  know  it  is  sweeter  than 
ever  now,  with  all  those  delightful  people  gathered 
there.  One  good  thing  the  war  has  done  among 
many  evils;  it  has  brought  us  into  contact  with  so 
many  pleasant  people  we  should  never  have  known 
otherwise.  I  know  it  must  be  charming  to  have  all 
those  nice  army  officers  around,  and  I  do  want  to  go 
back,  but  it  is  so  nice  here,  too,  that  we  have  decided 
to  stay  a  little  longer.  Father  says  that  this  is  the 
best  place  for  us  now  that  Kilpatrick's  raiders  are  out 
of  the  way.  I  wish  I  could  be  in  both  places  at  once. 
They  write  us  that  little  Washington  has  gotten  to  be 
the  great  thoroughfare  of  the  Confederacy  now,  since 
Sherman  has  cut  the  South  Carolina  R.R.  and  the  only 
line  of  communication  between  Virginia  and  this  part 
of  the  country,  from  which  the  army  draws  its  sup- 
plies, is  through  there  and  Abbeville.  This  was  the 
old  stage  route  before  there  were  any  railroads,  and 
our  first  "  rebel  "  president  traveled  over  it  in  return- 
ing from  his  Southern  tour  nearly  three-quarters  of  a 
century  ago,  when  he  spent  a  night  with  Col.  Alison 
in  Washington.  It  was  a  different  thing  being  a 
rebel  in  those  days  and  now.  I  wonder  the  Yankees 
don't  remember  they  were  rebels  once,  themselves. 

Mrs.  Meals  asked  me  to  go  with  her  in  the  after- 
noon to  visit  some  of  the  cracker  people  in  our  neigh- 
borhood and  try  to  collect  their  children  into  a  Sunday 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  93 

school  which  the  dear,  pious  little  soul  proposes  to 
open  at  Pine  Bluff  after  the  manner  of  Hannah  More. 
At  one  place,  where  the  parents  were  away  from  home, 
the  children  ran  away  from  us  in  a  fright,  and  hid 
behind  their  cabin.  I  went  after  them,  and  capturing 
one  little  boy,  soon  made  friends  with  him,  and  got 
him  to  bring  the  others  to  me.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  the  wife  of  our  nearest  cracker  neighbor,  who 
lives  just  beyond  the  lime  sink,  in  a  cabin  that  Brother 
Troup  wouldn't  put  one  of  his  negroes  into,  a  remark- 
ably handsome  woman,  in  spite  of  the  dirt  and  igno- 
rance in  which  she  lives.  Her  features  are  as  regular 
and  delicate  as  those  of  a  Grecian  statue,  and  her  hair 
of  a  rich  old  mahogany  color  that  I  suppose  an  artist 
would  call  Titian  red.  It  was  so  abundant  that  she  could 
hardly  keep  it  tucked  up  on  her  head.  She  was  dirty 
and  unkempt,  and  her  clothing  hardly  met  the  require- 
ments of  decency,  but  all  that  could  not  conceal  her 
uncommon  beauty.  I  would  give  half  I  am  worth  for 
her  flashing  black  eyes.  We  found  that  her  oldest 
child  is  thirteen  years  old,  and  has  never  been  inside 
a  church,  though  Mt.  Enon  is  only  three  miles  away. 
I  can't  understand  what  makes  these  people  live  so. 
The  father  owns  600  acres  of  good  pine  land,  and  if 
there  was  anything  in  him,  ought  to  make  a  good 
living  for  his  family. 

After  supper  we  amused  ourselves  getting  up  valen- 
tines. Everybody  in  the  neighborhood  has  agreed  to 
send  one  to  Jim  Chiles,  so  he  will  get  a  cartload  of 


94       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

them.  I  made  up  seven  stanzas  of  absurd  trash  to 
Capt.  Hobbs,  every  one  ending  with  a  rhyme  on  his 
name,  the  last  being: 

"  Oh,  how  my  heart  bobs 
At  the  very  name  of  Richard  Hobbs." 

Feb.  1 6,  Thursday. — We  started  for  Albany  for 
Mrs.  Welsh's  party,  soon  after  breakfast,  but  were  a 
good  deal  delayed  on  the  way  by  having  to  wait  for 
a  train  of  forty  government  wagons  to  pass.  We 
found  Mrs.  Julia  Butler  at  Mrs.  Sims's,  straight  from 
Washington,  with  letters  for  us,  and  plenty  of  news. 
I  feel  anxious  to  get  back  now,  since  Washington  is 
going  to  be  such  a  center  of  interest.  If  the  Yanks 
take  Augusta,  it  will  become  the  headquarters  of  the 
department.  Mrs.  Butler  says  a  train  of  300  wagons 
runs  between  there  and  Abbeville,  and  they  are  sur- 
veying a  railroad  route.  Several  regiments  are  sta- 
tioned there  and  the  town  is  alive  with  army  officers 
and  government  officials.  How  strange  all  this  seems 
for  dear,  quiet  little  Washington !  It  must  be  delight- 
ful there,  with  all  those  nice  army  officers.  I  am 
going  back  home  as  soon  as  I  can  decently  change  my 
mind.  I  have  been  at  the  rear  all  during  the  war, 
and  now  that  I  have  a  chance,  I  want  to  go  to  the 
front.  I  wish  I  could  be  here  and  there,  too,  at  the 
same  time. 

We  were  fairly  besieged  with  visitors  till  time  to 
dress  for  the  party.     Miss  Pyncheon  dined  with  us, 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  95 

and  Gardiner  Montgomery  is  staying  in  the  house,  and 
I  can't  tell  how  many  other  people  dropped  in.  It 
was  all  perfectly  delightful.  Capt.  Hobbs  and  Dr. 
Pyncheon  offered  themselves  as  escorts,  but  we  had 
already  made  engagements  with  Albert  Bacon  and 
Jim  Chiles.  We  gave  Miss  Pyncheon  and  Dr.  Sloane 
seats  in  our  carriage,  and  we  six  cliqued  together  a 
good  deal  during  the  evening,  and  had  a  fine  time  of  it. 
I  never  did  enjoy  a  party  more  and  never  had  less  to 
say  about  one.  I  had  not  a  single  adventure  during 
the  entire  evening.  Metta  was  the  belle,  par  excel- 
lence, but  Miss  Pyncheon  and  I  were  not  very  far  be- 
hind, and  I  think  I  was  ahead  of  them  all  in  my  dress. 
Miss  Pyncheon  wore  a  white  puffed  tarleton,  with 
pearls  and  white  flowers.  The  dress,  though  beauti- 
ful, was  not  becoming  because  the  one  fault  of  her 
fine,  aristocratic  face  is  want  of  color.  A  little  rouge 
and  sepia  would  improve  her  greatly,  if  a  nice  girl 
could  make  up  her  mind  to  use  them.  Mett  wore 
white  Suisse  with  festoon  flounces,  over  my  old  blue 
Florence  silk  skirt,  the  flounces,  like  charity,  covering 
a  multitude  of  faults.  She  was  a  long  way  the  pretti- 
est one  in  the  room,  though  her  hair  is  too  short  to  be 
done  up  stylishly.  But  my  dress  was  a  masterpiece 
[sic!]  though  patched  up,  like  everybody  else's,  out 
of  old  finery  that  would  have  been  cast  off  years  ago, 
but  for  the  blockade.  I  wore  a  white  barred  organdy 
with  a  black  lace  flounce  round  the  bottom  that  com- 
pletely hid  the  rents  made  at  dances  in  Montgomery 


96       THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

last  winter,  and  a  wide  black  lace  bow  and  ends  in 
the  back,  to  match  the  flounce.  Handsome  lace  will 
make  almost  anything  look  respectable,  and  I  thank 
my  stars  there  was  a  good  deal  of  it  in  the  family 
before  the  Yankees  shut  us  off  by  their  horrid  block- 
ade. My  waist  was  of  light  puffed  blonde,  very  fluffy, 
made  out  of  the  skirt  I  wore  at  Henry's  wedding,  and 
trimmed  round  the  neck  and  sleeves  with  ruchings 
edged  with  narrow  black  lace.  My  hair  was  frizzed 
in  front,  with  a  cluster  of  white  hyacinths  surmount- 
ing the  top  row  of  curls,  and  a  beautifully  embroidered 
butterfly  Aunt  Sallie  had  made  for  me  half-hidden 
among  them,  as  if  seeking  its  way  to  the  flowers.  My 
train  was  very  long,  but  I  pinned  it  up  like  a  tunic, 
over  a  billowy  flounced  muslin  petticoat,  while  danc- 
ing. My  toilet  was  very  much  admired,  and  I  had  a 
great  many  compliments  about  it  and  everybody  turned 
to  look  at  it  as  I  passed,  which  put  me  in  good  spirits. 
We  danced  eighteen  sets,  and  I  was  on  the  floor  every 
time,  besides  all  the  round  dances,  and  between  times 
there  were  always  three  or  four  around  talking  to  me. 
Mett  says  it  counts  a  great  deal  more  to  have  one 
very  devoted  at  a  time,  but  that  keeps  the  others  away, 
and  I  think  it  is  much  nicer  to  have  a  crowd  around 
you  all  the  time.  One  man  grows  tiresome  unless  you 
expect  to  marry  him,  and  I  am  never  going  to  marry 
anybody.  Marriage  is  incompatible  with  the  career  I 
have  marked  out  for  myself,  but  I  want  to  have  all 
the  fun  I  can  before  I  am  too  old.  .  .  .  Among  others 


A  BELLE   OF   THE   CONFEDERACY   IN   EVENING   DRESS 

JOSEPHINE  CHESTNEV,  RICHMOND,  VA.,  1863 

(Mrs.  Josephine  C.  Butler) 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  97 

I  met  my  old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Draper,  who  was  one 
of  the  attendants  at  Henry's  wedding.  He  says  I 
have  changed  a  great  deal,  and  look  just  like  Mett  did 
then.  I  suppose  I  may  take  this  as  a  double-barreled 
compliment,  as  Metta  is  the  beauty  of  the  family  and 
she  was  then  only  fifteen,  while  I  am  now  twenty-four ! 
Oh,  how  time  does  fly,  and  how  fast  we  grow  old! 
But  there  is  one  comfort  when  a  woman  doesn't  de- 
pend upon  looks;  she  lasts  longer. 

Capt.  Hobbs  has  got  his  valentine,  and  everybody 
is  laughing  about  it.  They  were  all  so  sure  it  came 
from  me  that  Dr.  Conolly  and  the  captain  put  their 
heads  together  and  wrote  a  reply  that  they  were  going 
to  send  me,  but  I  threw  them  off  the  track  so  com- 
pletely, that  they  are  now  convinced  that  it  came  from 
Merrill  Callaway.  Even  Albert  Bacon  is  fooled,  and 
it  is  he  that  told  me  all  Capt.  Hobbs  and  the  others 
said  about  it,  and  of  their  having  suspected  me.  I 
pretended  a  great  deal  of  curiosity  and  asked  what 
sort  of  poetry  it  was.  Mr.  Bacon  then  repeated  some 
of  my  own  ridiculous  rhymes  to  me.  "  It  is  a  capital 
thing,"  he  said,  shaking  with  laughter,  "  only  a  little 
hard  on  Hobbs." 

"It  is  just  like  Merrill,"  said  I;  "but  I  am  sorry 
the  captain  found  out  I  didn't  send  it  before  mailing 
his  reply."  I  am  going  to  tell  them  better  in  a  few 
days  and  let  them  see  how  royally  they  have  been 
fooled. 

Feb.  17,  Friday. — We  had  expected  to  bring  Miss 


98        THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Pyncheon  out  to  Pine  Bluff  with  us,  but  Mrs.  Butler 
had  the  only  vacant  seat  in  the  carriage.  I  felt  stupid 
and  sleepy  all  day,  for  it  was  after  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  I  got  home  from  the  party  and  went 
to  bed.  I  took  a  walk  with  the  children  after  dinner, 
to  the  lime  sink  back  of  the  newground.  The  sink  is 
half  full  of  water  from  an  overflowed  cypress  pond 
just  this  side  of  Mt.  Enon.  The  water  runs  in  a  clear 
stream  down  a  little  declivity — something  very  un- 
common in  this  flat  country — in  finding  its  way  to  the 
sink,  and  makes  a  lovely  little  waterfall.  There  is  a  sub- 
terranean outlet  from  the  sink,  for  it  never  overflows 
except  in  times  of  unusually  heavy  rain.  It  makes  a 
diminutive  lake,  which  is  full  of  small  fish,  and  the 
banks  are  bordered  with  willow  oaks  and  tall  shrubs 
aglow  with  yellow  jessamine.  An  old  man  was 
seated  on  the  bank  fishing,  as  we  approached,  making 
a  very  pretty  picture. 

Feb.  21,  Tuesday. — A  letter  from  Mecca  Joyner, 
saying  she  is  coming  to  make  me  a  visit,  and  I  must 
meet  her  in  Albany  on  Wednesday.  Just  as  I  had 
finished  reading  it  a  buggy  drove  up  with  Flora  Max- 
well and  Capt.  Rust,  from  Gopher  Hill.  Flora  has  a 
great  reputation  for  beauty,  but  I  think  her  even  more 
fascinating  and  elegant  than  beautiful.  Capt.  Rust  is 
an  exile  from  Delaware,  and  a  very  nice  old  gentle- 
man, whom  the  Maxwells  think  a  great  deal  of.  He 
was  banished  for  helping  Southern  prisoners  to  escape 
across  the  lines.     He  tells  me  that  he  sometimes  had 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  99 

as  many  as  fourteen  rebels  concealed  in  his  house  at 
one  time. 

Albert  Bacon  called  after  tea  and  told  us  all  about 
the  Hobbs  poetry,  and  teased  me  a  good  deal  at  first 
by  pretending  that  Capt.  Hobbs  was  very  angry.  He 
says  everybody  is  talking  about  it  and  asking  for 
copies.  I  had  no  idea  of  making  such  a  stir  by  my 
little  joke.  Metta  and  I  were  invited  to  spend  this 
week  at  Stokes  Walton's,  but  company  at  home  pre- 
vented. We  are  going  to  have  a  picnic  at  the  Henry 
Bacons'  lake  on  Thursday,  and  the  week  after  we 
expect  to  begin  our  journey  home  in  good  earnest. 
Sister  is  going  to  visit  Brother  Troup  in  Macon  at 
the  same  time,  and  a  large  party  from  Albany  will 
go  that  far  with  us.  I  have  so  much  company  and 
so  much  running  about  to  do  that  I  can't  find  time  for 
anything  else.  I  have  scribbled  this  off  while  waiting 
for  breakfast. 

Feb.  22,  Wednesday. — I  went  to  Albany  and 
brought  Mecca  Joyner  and  Jim  Chiles  home  with  me. 
I  took  dinner  with  Mrs.  Sims  and  met  several  friends, 
whom  I  invited  to  our  picnic.  Sister  had  a  large  com- 
pany to  spend  the  evening,  and  they  stayed  so  late 
that  I  grew  very  sleepy.  I  am  all  upset,  anyway,  for 
letters  from  home  have  come  advising  us  to  stay  here 
for  the  present,  where  there  is  plenty  to  eat,  and  less 
danger  from  Yankees  now,  than  almost  anywhere 
else.  It  must  be  perversity,  for  when  I  thought  I  had 
to  go  home  I  wanted  to  stay  here,  and  now  that  father 


ioo      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

wants  me  to  stay,  I  am  wild  to  go.  I  have  written 
him  that  he  had  better  order  me  back  home,  for  then 
I  would  not  care  so  much  about  going.  Now  that 
the  Yanks  have  passed  by  Augusta  and  are  making 
their  way  to  Columbia  and  Charleston,  I  hope  they 
will  give  Georgia  a  rest. 

Feb.  23,  Thursday. — The  picnic  was  stupid.  It 
must  be  that  I  am  getting  tired  of  seeing  the  same 
faces  so  often.  Albert  Bacon  and  Jim  Chiles  came 
home  with  us,  and  we  enjoyed  the  evening.  Capt. 
Rust  is  a  dear  old  fellow,  and  Miss  Connor  and  Maj. 
Camp  added  a  little  variety.  Capt.  Rust  and  Mr. 
Bacon  proposed  a  ride  across  country  for  the  morning, 
but  there  is  not  a  riding  habit  in  the  family,  nor  a 
piece  of  cloth  big  enough  to  make  one.  I  ruined  mine 
in  those  fox  hunts  at  Chunnenuggee  Ridge  last  fall. 
Flora  is  a  famous  horsewoman,  and  I  know  she  must 
be  a  good  rider,  for  her  every  movement  is  grace 
itself.  She  is  one  of  those  people  that  gains  upon  you 
on  acquaintance.  She  is  so  out  of  the  commonplace. 
There  is  something  stately  and  a  little  cold  about  her 
that  reminds  me  of  a  beautiful  lily,  and  yet  there 
is  a  fascination  about  her  that  attracts  everybody. 
All  the  men  that  come  near  her  go  wild  over 
her,  and  I  don't  wonder.  If  I  could  write  a  novel,  I 
would  make  her  the  heroine.  She  seems  to  stand  on 
a  higher  plane  than  we  common  mortals,  without  in- 
tending or  knowing  it.  Her  simplicity  and  straight- 
forwardness are  her  greatest  charm. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  101 

Feb.  26,  Sunday. — Flora  and  the  captain  have  re- 
turned to  Gopher  Hill,  whither  Metta,  Mecca,  and  I 
are  invited  to  follow  on  Friday,  when  sister  goes  up 
to  Macon.  Jimmy  Callaway  and  his  father  have  just 
come  from  Washington  with  such  glowing  accounts 
of  the  excitement  and  gayety  there  that  I  am  dis- 
tracted to  go  back  home.  If  father  don't  write  for 
us  to  come  soon,  I  think  we  will  go  to  Chunnenuggee 
by  way  of  Eufaula  and  the  Chattahoochee,  and  if 
Thomas's  raiders  catch  us  over  in  Alabama,  father 
will  wish  he  had  let  us  come  home. 

After  dinner  I  took  Mecca  over  to  the  Praise  House 
to  hear  the  negroes  sing.  I  wish  I  was  an  artist  so 
that  I  could  draw  a  picture  of  the  scene.  Alfred,  one 
of  the  chief  singers,  is  a  gigantic  creature,  more  like 
an  ape  than  a  man.  I  have  seen  pictures  of  African 
savages  in  books  of  travel  that  were  just  like  him.  His 
hands  and  feet  are  so  huge  that  it  looks  as  if  their 
weight  would  crush  the  heads  of  the  little  piccaninnies 
when  he  pats  them;  yet,  with  all  this  strength,  they 
say  he  is  a  great  coward,  and  one  of  the  most  docile 
negroes  on  the  plantation.  The  women,  when  they 
get  excited  with  the  singing,  shut  their  eyes  and  rock 
themselves  back  and  forth,  clapping  their  hands,  and 
in  the  intervals,  when  not  moved  by  the  "  sperrit," 
occupy  themselves  hunting  for  lice  in  their  children's 
heads.  Old  Bob  and  Jim  are  the  preachers,  and  very 
good  old  darkies  they  are,  in  spite  of  their  religion. 
But  the  chief  personages  on  the  plantation  are  old 


102      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Granny  Mimey,  old  Uncle  Wally,  and  Uncle  Setley, 
who  are  all  superannuated  and  privileged  characters. 
I  tell  sister  that  Uncle  Wally  has  nothing  to  do,  and 
Uncle  Setley  to  help  him.  The  latter  is  very  deaf, 
and  half  crazy,  but  harmless.  I  am  a  special  favorite 
of  Uncle  Wally's.  We  have  a  chat  every  morning 
when  he  passes  through  the  back  yard  on  his  way  to 
the  cowpen.  The  other  day  he  said  to  me :  "  You  is 
de  puttiest  lady  ever  I  seed;  you  looks  jes'  lack  one  er 
dese  heer  alablastered  dolls." 

We  walked  to  the  bluff  on  the  river  bank,  after 
leaving  the  quarter,  and  sat  there  a  long  time  talking. 
Spring  is  here  in  earnest.  The  yellow  jessamines  are 
bursting  into  bloom,  and  the  air  is  fragrant  with  the 
wild  crab  apples. 

March  i,  Wednesday. — The  weather  has  been  so 
bad  that  we  are  thrown  upon  our  own  resources  for 
amusement.  Metta  and  Mecca  play  cards  and  back- 
gammon most  of  the  time,  and  Albert  Bacon  comes 
almost  every  day  on  some  pretense  or  other.  One 
very  dark  night  when  he  was  here,  we  told  ghost 
stories  till  we  frightened  ourselves  half  to  death,  and 
had  to  beg  him  to  stay  all  night  to  keep  the  bogies  off. 
Mett  and  I  take  long  tramps  in  the  afternoons  through 
mist  and  mud,  but  Mec  does  not  like  to  walk.  The 
lime  sink  is  particularly  attractive  just  now.  The 
little  stream  that  feeds  it  is  swollen  by  the  rains,  and 
dashes  along  with  a  great  noise.  It  is  so  full  of  little 
fish  that  one  can  catch  them  in  the  hand,  and  the  swans 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  103 

go  there  to  feed  on  them.  The  whole  wood  is  fra- 
grant with  yellow  jessamines  and  carpeted  with 
flowers. 

Another  letter  from  home  that  makes  me  more 
eager  than  ever  to  return.  Gen.  Elzey  and  staff  are 
at  our  house,  and  the  town  is  full  of  people  that  I 
want  to  see. 

March  2,  Thursday. — We  left  Pine  Bluff  at  eleven 
o'clock  and  reached  the  Blue  Spring  in  time  for  lunch. 
Albert  Bacon  and  Jimmy  Chiles  were  there  to  meet  us. 
Hang  a  petticoat  on  a  bean  pole  and  carry  it  where 
you  will,  Jimmy  will  follow.  The  river  is  so  high 
that  its  muddy  waters  have  backed  up  into  the  spring 
and  destroyed  its  beauty,  but  we  enjoyed  the  glorious 
flowers  that  bloom  around  it,  and  saw  some  brilliant 
birds  of  a  kind  that  were  new  to  me.  Mr.  Bacon  said 
he  would  kill  one  and  give  me  to  trim  my  hat. 

March  3,  Friday.  Gopher  Hill. — Up  at  daybreak, 
and  on  the  train,  ready  to  leave  Albany.  Albert  and 
Jimmy  were  there,  of  course,  besides  a  number  of 
Albany  people  who  had  come  to  see  us  off — a  great 
compliment  at  that  heathenish  hour.  We  got  off  at 
Wooten's  Station,  only  twelve  miles  from  Albany. 
Flora  and  Capt.  Rust  were  there  to  meet  us  with 
conveyances  for  Gopher  Hill.  It  is  worth  the  journey 
from  Pine  Bluff  to  Gopher  Hill  just  to  travel  over 
the  road  between  there  and  Wooten's.  It  runs  nearly 
all  the  way  through  swamps  alive  with  the  beauty 
and  fragrance  of  spring.     We  passed  through  Starkes- 


104     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

ville  and  crossed  Muckolee  Creek  at  the  very  spot 
where  I  had  such  an  adventurous  night  in  my  child- 
hood, traveling  in  the  old  stage  coach  that  used  to  run 
between  Macon  and  Albany.  The  swamps  were  over- 
flowed then  and  we  had  to  cross  the  creek  in  a  canoe, 
and  Cousin  Boiling  held  me  in  his  lap  to  keep  me  from 
falling  out.  On  the  other  side  of  the  creek,  towards 
Gopher  Hill,  we  came  to  an  old  Indian  clearing  where 
are  some  magnificent  willow  oaks  that  I  recognized 
distinctly,  though  it  is  fourteen  years  since  then. 

Gopher  Hill  is  seven  miles  from  the  station.  It  is 
like  most  plantation  houses  in  this  part  of  the  world, 
where  they  are  used  only  for  camping  a  few  weeks  in 
winter — or  were,  before  the  war — a  big,  one-storied 
log  cabin,  or  rather,  a  combination  of  cabins  spread 
out  over  a  full  half  acre  of  ground,  and  even  then 
with  hardly  room  enough  to  accommodate  the  army 
of  guests  the  family  gather  about  them  when  they 
go  to  the  country.  On  each  side  of  the  avenue  leading 
to  the  house  is  a  small  lake,  and  about  two  miles  back 
in  the  plantation,  a  large  one  on  which  Flora  has  a 
row-boat.  She  has  a  beautiful  pony  named  Fleet,  that 
is  the  counterpart  of  our  own  dear  little  Dixie.  Col. 
Maxwell  has  a  great  many  fine  horses  and  all  sorts  of 
conveyances,  which  are  at  the  service  of  his  guests. 
He  is  one  of  the  most  aristocratic-looking  old  gentle- 
men I  ever  saw.  In  manners,  appearance,  and  dispo- 
sition, he  is  strikingly  like  Brother  Troup,  except  that 
the   colonel   is   very    large    and    commanding,    while 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  105 

Brother  Troup  is  small  and  dapper.  He  is  very  hand- 
some— next  to  Bishop  Elliot,  one  of  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  Southern  manhood  I  ever  saw.  It  is  one  of 
the  cases  where  blood  will  tell,  for  he  has  the  best  of 
Georgia  in  his  veins,  or  to  go  back  further,  the  best 
in  old  Scotland  itself.  Though  over  sixty  years  old, 
he  has  never  been  out  of  the  State,  and  is  as  full  of 
whims  and  prejudices  as  the  traditional  old  country 
squire  that  we  read  about  in  English  novels.  His 
present  wife,  Flora's  stepmother,  is  much  younger 
than  he,  very  gay  and  witty,  and  escapes  all  worry 
by  taking  a  humorous  view  of  him  and  his  crotchets. 
He  and  Flora  idolize  each  other,  and  she  is  the  only 
person  that  can  do  anything  with  him,  and  not  always 
even  she,  when  he  once  gets  his  head  fast  set. 

We  had  dinner  at  two  o'clock,  and  afterwards  went 
to  a  country  school  about  two  miles  away,  to  hear 
the  boys  and  girls  declaim.  The  schoolmaster  made 
so  many  facetious  remarks  about  the  ladies,  that  I 
asked  Flora  if  he  was  a  widower — he  seemed  too  silly 
to  be  anything  else — but  she  says  he  has  a  wife  living; 
poor  thing.  We  met  Gen.  Graves  *  at  the  school- 
house  and  he  rode  back  with  us.  We  took  to  the 
woods  and  jumped  our  horses  over  every  log  we  came 
to,  just  to  see  what  he  would  do. 

March  4,  Saturday. —  ...  I  had  just  finished  writ- 
ing some  letters  when  Gen.  Graves  and  Mr.  Baldwin  f 

*  Father  of  John  Temple  Graves,  the  Georgia  orator. 
t  This  name,  for  obvious  reasons,  is  fictitious. 
8 


106     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

were  announced  and  I  went  to  the  parlor.  The  gen- 
eral is  consumedly  in  love  with  Flora,  and  Mr.  Bald- 
win equally  so  with  his  bottle,  but  is  nice-looking,  and 
when  not  too  far  gone,  quite  agreeable.  It  is  amusing 
to  see  good  old  Capt.  Rust  watching  over  him  and 
trying  to  keep  temptation  out  of  his  way.  He  stole 
the  bottle  out  of  his  bedroom  the  first  chance  he  could 
find,  but  not  until  the  poor  fellow  had  got  more  of  it 
than  was  good  for  him.  The  weather  cleared  up 
after  dinner  and  we  went  to  Coney  Lake,  where  the 
boat  is — Flora  and  I  on  horseback,  the  rest  in  buggies 
and  carriages.  It  is  a  beautiful  place.  Great  avenues 
of  cypress  extend  into  the  shallow  waters  near  the 
shore,  where  we  could  float  about  in  shady  canals  and 
gather  the  curious  wild  plants  that  grow  there.  Huge 
water  lilies  with  stems  like  ropes  and  leaves  as  big  as 
palm-leaf  fans,  float  about  in  the  open  spaces,  and 
great  lotus  plants,  with  their  curious  funnel-shaped 
pods  and  umbrella-like  leaves,  line  the  shores  and 
shallows.  The  lake  is  so  deep  in  the  center  that  it 
has  never  been  fathomed,  being  connected,  probably, 
with  a  lime  sink  or  an  underground  stream;  but  its 
waters  are  clear  as  crystal,  and  where  they  are  shallow 
enough  to  show  the  bottom,  all  kinds  of  curious 
aquatic  plants  can  be  seen  growing  there  in  the  wildest 
luxuriance.  I  took  my  first  row  with  Mr.  Baldwin, 
and  wished  myself  back  on  shore  before  we  had  made 
twenty  strokes.  He  was  just  far  enough  gone  to  be 
reckless,  and  frightened  me  nearly  out  of  my  wits  by 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  107 

rocking  the  boat  till  the  gunwales  dipped  in  the 
water,  and  then  tried -to  pacify  me  with  maudlin  talk 
about  swimming  ashore  with  me  if  it  should  capsize. 
I  picked  up  a  paddle  and  tried  to  row  the  boat  myself, 
and  then  he  got  interested  in  teaching  me,  and  finally 
we  came  safe  to  land.  I  went  out  again  with  Capt. 
Rust,  and  enjoyed  the  last  trip  more  than  any.  We 
were  followed  by  an  alligator,  and  Capt.  Rust  gathered 
for  me  some  of  the  curious  plants  that  were  floating 
on  the  water.  It  was  late  when  we  started  back  to 
the  house,  and  the  ride  was  glorious.  Flora  and  I 
amused  ourselves  by  going  through  the  woods  and 
making  our  horses  jump  the  highest  logs  we  could 
find.  Fleet  was  so  full  of  spirit  that  I  could  hardly 
hold  him  in. 

March  5,  Sunday. — One  of  the  loveliest  days  I  ever 
saw.  We  went  to  a  little  Methodist  church  in  Starkes- 
ville,  for  the  pleasure  of  the  drive. 

After  dinner  we  walked  to  the  Bubbling  Spring, 
and  killed  a  big  snake  on  the  way.  The  spring  is 
down  in  a  gully,  and  is  simply  the  mouth  of  a  small 
underground  stream  that  comes  to  the  surface  there. 
It  throws  up  a  kind  of  black  sand  that  rises  on  the 
water  like  smoke  from  the  stack  of  a  steam  engine. 
The  water  under  ground  makes  strange  sounds,  like 
voices  wailing  and  groaning.  Just  below  the  spring 
is  a  little  natural  bridge,  the  most  romantic  spot  I 
have  seen  in  the  neighborhood.  The  rocks  that 
border  the  stream  are  covered  with  ferns  and  brilliant 


108      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

green  mosses  and  liverworts.  Palmettoes  and  bright 
flowering  plants  grow  in  the  crevices,  and  the  whole 
place  is  shaded  by  magnolias,  willow  oaks  and  myrtles, 
bound  together  by  gigantic  smilax  and  jessamine  vines. 
At  several  places  there  are  openings  in  the  ground 
through  which  one  can  peep  and  see  rapid  water  flow- 
ing under  our  feet.  This  whole  country  is  riddled 
with  underground  streams.  At  Palmyra,  not  far 
from  Albany,  there  is  a  mill  turned  by  one.  The 
stream  was  discovered  by  a  man  digging  a  well,  to 
which  an  accident  happened  not  uncommon  in  this 
country— the  bottom  dropped  out.  A  calf  that  fell 
into  the  well  and  was  supposed  to  be  drowned,  turned 
up  a  few  days  after,  sound  and  safe.  His  tracks  led 
to  an  opening ,.  through  which  issued  water  covered 
with  foam.  A  great  roaring  was  heard,  which 
further  exploration  showed  to  come  from  a  fine  sub- 
terranean waterfall. 

March  6,  Monday. — After  breakfast,  we  all  piled 
into  a  big  plantation  wagon  and  went  to  see  Prairie 
Pond,  a  great  sheet  of  water  covering  over  200  acres. 
It  has  formed  there  since  Col.  Maxwell  bought  the 
Gopher  Hill  plantation.  He  says  that  when  he  first 
came  here  there  was  not  a  patch  of  standing  water 
as  big  as  his  hand  on  all  the  acres  now  covered  by 
Prairie  Pond,  and  the  great  skeletons  of  dead  forest 
trees  still  standing  in  the  outer  edges  of  the  lake  show 
that  the  encroachment  of  the  water  is  still  going  on. 
Some  years  after  he  came  to  Gopher  Hill,  he  says,  a 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  109 

blue  spring  on  the  other  side  of  the  plantation,  that 
formed  the  outlet  of  an  underground  stream,  became 
choked  up  from  some  cause,  so  the  waters  had  no 
escape,  and  Prairie  Pond  began  to  form  and  has  been 
slowly  increasing  ever  since.  Near  the  lake  we  came 
to  two  remarkable  lime  sinks.  They  are  both  very 
deep,  and  as  round  as  drinking  cups.  One  of  them  is 
covered  with  a  green  scum  about  an  inch  thick,  com- 
posed of  scaly  plants,  like  lichens.  Underneath  this 
scum  the  water  is  clear  as  crystal.  The  stones  all 
around  are  full  of  fossil  shells,  and  we  found  some 
beautiful  crystallized  limestone  that  sparkled  like 
diamonds. 

We  had  to  leave  our  wagon  several  hundred  yards 
from  the  border  of  the  pond  and  make  our  explora- 
tions on  foot,  for  want  of  a  wagon  road.  In  return- 
ing we  took  the  wrong  direction  and  went  a  mile  or 
two  out  of  our  way,  getting  very  wet  feet,  and  I  tore 
my  dress  so  that  I  looked  like  a  ragamuffin  into  the 
bargain.  When  at  last  we  reached  home,  the  servants 
told  us  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren,  with  Gen.  Graves, 
Mr.  Baldwin,  and  Clint  Spenser  and  Joe  Godfrey 
from  Albany,  had  come  over  to  dinner,  and  not  finding 
anybody  at  home,  had  set  out  in  search  of  us.  We 
girls  scurried  to  our  rooms  and  had  just  made  our- 
selves respectable  when  Mr.  Baldwin  and  Mr.  Spenser, 
having  tired  of  their  wild-goose  chase,  came  back  to 
the  house.  Mecca  and  I  got  into  the  double  buggy 
with  them  and  started  out  to  hunt  up  the  rest  of  the 


no     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

party.  After  dinner,  we  went  to  Coney  Lake  again. 
I  went  in  the  buggy  with  Joe  Godfrey.  He  and  Mr. 
Baldwin  each  invited  me  to  take  a  row.  I  didn't  go 
with  Mr.  Baldwin. 

March  8,  Wednesday. — I  went  up  to  Americus  yes- 
terday, with  Flora  and  Capt.  Rust,  to  see  Cousin 
Boiling  about  my  eyes,  expecting  to  return  to  Gopher 
Hill  on  the  afternoon  train,  but  Cousin  Bessie  in- 
sisted that  we  should  stay  to  dinner,  and  her 
attempt  to  have  it  served  early  was  so  unsuccessful 
that  Capt.  Rust  and  I  got  to  the  station  just  in  time 
to  see  the  train  moving  off  without  us.  Flora  had 
another  engagement,  that  caused  her  to  decline  Mrs. 
Pope's  invitation,  so  she  made  the  train,  but  the  cap- 
tain and  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  spend  the  night 
in  Americus  and  kill  the  time  as  best  we  could.  I 
was  repaid  for  the  annoyance  of  getting  left  by  the 
favorable  report  Cousin  Boiling  gave  of  my  eyes.  He 
says  it  is  nothing  but  the  effects  of  measles  that  ails 
them,  and  they  are  almost  well.  I  occupied  Flora's 
room  that  night.  Cousin  Bessie  lent  me  one  of  her 
fine  embroidered  linen  nightgowns,  and  I  was  so  over- 
powered at  having  on  a  decent  piece  of  underclothing 
after  the  coarse  Macon  Mills  homespun  I  have 
been  wearing  for  the  last  two  years,  that  I  could 
hardly  go  to  sleep.  I  stood  before  the  glass  and 
looked  at  myself  after  I  was  undressed  just  to  see 
how  nice  it  was  to  have  on  a  respectable  undergarment 
once  more.     I  can  stand  patched-up  dresses,  and  even 


FROM    BEYOND    THE    BLOCKADE 

KATE   PIERCY   MURPHEY.   OF   NORFOLK,  VA. 

(Mrs.  T.  O.  Chestney) 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  in 

take  a  pride  in  wearing  Confederate  homespun,  where 
it  is  done  open  and  above  board,  but  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing vulgar  and  common  in  coarse  underclothes. 
Cousin  Bessie  has  brought  quantities  of  beautiful 
things  from  beyond  the  blockade,  that  make  us  poor 
Rebs  look  like  ragamuffins  beside  her.  She  has 
crossed  the  lines  by  special  permit,  and  will  be  obliged 
to  return  to  Memphis  by  the  2d  of  April,  when  her 
pass  will  be  out.  It  seems  funny  for  a  white  woman 
to  have  to  get  a  pass  to  see  her  husband,  just  like  the 
negro  men  here  do  when  their  wives  live  on  another 
plantation.  The  times  have  brought  about  some 
strange  upturnings.  Cousin  Boiling  is  awfully  blue 
about  the  war,  and  it  does  begin  to  look  as  if  our  poor 
little  Confederacy  was  about  on  its  last  legs,  but  I  am 
so  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  vicissitudes  that  I  try 
not  to  let  thoughts  of  the  inevitable  disturb  me.  The 
time  to  be  blue  was  five  years  ago,  before  we  went  into 
it.  Before  breakfast  this  morning  I  went  out  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  Col.  Maxwell's  old  mammy, 
Aunt  Lizzie.  She  lives  in  a  pretty  little  cottage  on  a 
corner  of  the  lot,  and  is  more  petted  and  spoiled  than 
any  of  his  children.  The  day  Cousin  Boiling  was 
first  expected  in  Americus  with  his  bride,  Flora  went 
to  town  to  put  the  house  in  order  for  them,  and  asked 
Aunt  Lizzie  to  cook  dinner  for  the  newly  married  pair. 
"  What  you  talkin'  'bout,  chile  ?  "  was  the  answer. 
"  I  wouldn't  cook  fur  Jesus  Christ  to-day,  let  alone 
Dr.   Pope."     Poor,   down-trodden   creature !   what   a 


ii2      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

text  for  Mrs.  Stowe!  She  has  relented  since  then, 
however,  and  Cousin  Bessie  says  often  sends  her  pres- 
ents of  delicious  rolls  and  light  bread.  She  took  me 
into  favor  at  once,  told  me  all  about  her  "  rheumatiz," 
and  "  de  spiration  "  of  her  heart,  and  kissed  my  hand 
fervently  when  I  went  away.  Capt.  Rust  was  so 
afraid  of  being  left  again  that  he  would  not  wait  for 
the  omnibus,  but  trotted  me  off  on  foot  an  hour  ahead 
of  time,  although  it  was  raining.  We  met  Mr.  Wheat- 
ley  and  Maj.  Daniel  on  our  way  to  the  depot,  and  they 
told  us  that  a  dispatch  had  just  been  received  stating 
that  the  Yanks  have  landed  at  St.  Mark's  and  are 
marching  on  Tallahassee.  We  first  heard  they  were 
4,000  strong,  but  before  we  reached  the  depot,  their 
numbers  had  swelled  to  15,000. 

March  9,  Thursday. — Mrs.  Warren  gave  a  dinner 
party  to  which  all  the  people  from  Gopher  Hill  and  a 
good  many  from  Albany  were  invited,  but  very  few 
attended  on  account  of  the  weather.  It  poured  down 
rain  all  day,  and  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  furious 
storm;  but  Mrs.  Maxwell  is  always  in  for  a  frolic,  so 
we  left  home  at  eleven,  between  showers,  and  got  to 
the  Warrens'  just  before  the  storm  burst.  Gen. 
Graves,  Mr.  Baldwin,  Joe  Godfrey,  Albert  Bacon, 
and  Jim  Chiles  were  the  only  ones  there  besides  Mrs. 
Maxwell  and  her  guests.  There  is  a  fine  lake  in  front 
of  Mr.  Warren's  house,  but  the  weather  gave  us  no 
opportunity  for  rowing.  We  dined  at  six,  and  it  was 
so  dark  when  we  rose  from  the  table  that  we  had  to 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  113 

start  for  home  at  once.  Mrs.  Warren  insisted  on  our 
staying  all  night,  but 'there  was  company  invited  to 
spend  the  evening  at  Gopher  Hill,  so  off  we  went  in 
the  rain.  We  took  a  new  road  to  avoid  some  bad 
mud  holes  in  the  old  one,  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
lost  our  way  in  the  numerous  blind  roads  that  cross 
each  other  in  every  direction  through  the  pine  woods, 
and  which  are  all  just  alike  except  that  they  lead  to 
different  places — or  to  no  place  at  all.  The  night  was 
very  dark  and  it  rained  furiously,  though  the  wind 
had  lulled.  The  glare  of  the  lightning  was  blinding 
and  terrific  peals  of  thunder  rang  through  the  woods. 
Every  few  yards  there  were  trees  blown  across  the 
road,  and  the  negro  Mr.  Warren  had  sent  to  guide  us 
would  have  to  grope  about  in  the  dark,  hunting  for 
some  way  around  them.  At  last  he  confessed  that  he 
had  lost  his  way,  and  then  I  fell  back  in  a  corner  of 
the  phaeton  and  began  to  say  my  prayers.  As  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do,  we  concluded  to  follow  the 
blind  path  we  were  in,  hoping  it  would  lead  some- 
where. It  did  lead  us  with  a  vengeance,  through 
ponds  and  bogs  and  dismal  swamps  where  the  frogs 
filled  our  ears  with  unearthly  noises.  But  all  things 
have  an  end,  even  piney  woods  byroads,  and  at  last 
we  came  out  upon  a  broad  smooth  highway,  which  the 
guide  recognized  as  the  one  he  was  looking  for.  Our 
troubles  were  now  over,  and  in  a  short  time  we  were 
back  at  Gopher  Hill.  Though  it  was  very  late,  we 
began  to  dance  and  enjoy  ourselves  in  a  fashion,  but 


ii4      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

everybody  seemed  to  be  more  or  less  out  of  humor, 
for  before  we  went  to  bed,  I  was  made  the  confidante 
of  four  lovers'  quarrels. 

March  10,  Friday. — A  day  of  public  fasting  and 
prayer  for  our  poor  country,  but  there  was  little  of 
either  done  at  Gopher  Hill.  We  had  a  late  breakfast 
after  our  night's  dissipation,  and  soon  after,  Mr.  Bald- 
win and  Mr.  Bacon  came  over  and  played  cards  till 
dinner-time.  After  dinner  the  gentlemen  proposed  a 
row  on  the  lake,  but  Mrs.  Maxwell  and  I  were  the  only 
ones  that  had  fasted  and  we  wouldn't  indulge  in  a 
frolic,  and  the  others  said  they  were  afraid  they  might 
be  drowned  for  their  sins  if  they  ventured  on  the 
water,  so  we  drove  to  the  station  instead.  We  were 
too  late  to  meet  the  train,  but  heard  plenty  of  news. 
A  tornado  passed  over  the  Flat  Pond  plantation  yes- 
terday, destroying  every  house  on  it  and  killing  fifteen 
negroes;  a  schoolhouse  was  blown  down  and  several 
children  killed;  on  one  plantation  all  the  poultry  was 
drowned,  and  two  calves  blown  away  and  never  came 
down  again !  So  much  for  marvels.  But  the  whole 
country  between  Wooten's  and  Gopher  Hill  is  really 
flooded.  One  bridge  that  we  crossed  was  entirely 
under  water  and  seeined  ready  to  give  way  and  go 
down  stream  at  any  moment.  Jimmy  caught  a 
gopher  *  in  the  road  on  our  way  home,  and  we  saw 
rows  of  them  sitting  on  logs  in  the  swamps,  as  if 
they  were  having  a  prayer-meeting. 

*  A  local  name  for  a  kind  of  terrapin  common  in  that  section. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  115 

March  II,  Saturday. — Played  euchre  and  wrote 
letters  all  the  morning.  Capt.  Rust  gave  me  a  pretty 
tucking-comb  which  he  had  carved  himself,  out  of 
maple  wood.  We  had  an  early  dinner  and  reached 
Wooten's  at  least  half  an  hour  before  the  train  was 
due.  At  the  depot  in  Albany,  Albert  Bacon,  Joe  God- 
frey, Mr.  Baldwin,  and  Gen.  Graves  were  waiting 
for  us.  We  drove  by  the  post  office  to  get  the  mail, 
and  there  half  a  dozen  others  surrounded  the  carriage 
and  took  the  reins  from  Uncle  Aby  so  that  he  could 
not  drive  away.  The  people  in  the  street  laughed  as 
they  went  by  to  see  them  buzzing  round  the  carriage 
like  bees,  and  presently  Jim  Chiles  found  Mary  Leila 
Powers  and  Mrs.  Bell  and  brought  them  up  to  add  to 
the  hubbub.  Poor  old  Aby  despaired  of  ever  getting 
us  out  of  town,  and  when  at  last  we  started  down  the 
street,  we  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  I  saw 
a  young  officer  in  a  captain's  uniform  running  after 
us  and  we  came  to  another  halt.  It  turned  out  to  be 
Wallace  Brumby.  He  says  that  he  left  Washington 
two  weeks  ago,  and  is  water-bound  here,  on  his  way 
to  Florida,  where  some  of  his  men  are  straggling 
about,  if  they  haven't  been  swallowed  up  by  the  fresh- 
ets that  have  disorganized  everything.  He  promised 
to  stop  at  Pine  Bluff  on  his  way  down,  and  give  us 
the  news.  Then  Uncle  Aby  grew  desperate,  and  see- 
ing another  squad  of  officers  coming  up  to  join  Capt. 
Brumby,  whipped  up  his  horses  and  drove  off  without 
further  ceremony.     He  was  right  to  hurry,   for  the 


n6      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

roads  are  so  flooded  that  we  had  to  travel  20  miles 
to  get  home.  Everything  is  under  water.  In  some 
places  the  front  wheels  were  entirely  submerged  and 
we  had  to  stand  on  the  seats  to  keep  our  feet  dry.  It 
was  nine  o'clock  before  we  reached  home,  and  Mrs. 
Butler  and  Mrs.  Meals  had  become  so  uneasy  that 
they  were  about  to  send  a  man  on  horseback  to  see 
what  had  become  of  us.  I  found  letters  from  home 
waiting  for  us,  with  permission  to  go  to  Chunnen- 
nuggee  or  anywhere  else  we  want  to.  Communication 
between  here  and  Washington  is  so  interrupted  that 
I  don't  suppose  they  have  heard  yet  of  the  reported 
raid  into  Florida,  and  all  our  writing  back  and  forth 
is  at  cross  purposes.  The  latest  news  is  that  the 
Yankees  have  whipped  our  forces  at  Tallahassee,  but 
the  waters  are  so  high  and  communication  so  uncertain 
that  one  never  knows  what  to  believe.  At  any  rate, 
I  shall  not  run  till  I  hear  that  the  enemy  are  at 
Thomasville. 

March  13,  Monday. — Mett,  Mecca,  and  I  took  a 
long  drive  to  look  at  some  new  muslin  dress  goods 
that  we  heard  a  countryman  down  towards  Camilla 
had  for  sale.  They  were  very  cheap — only  twenty 
dollars  a  yard.  Mett  and  I  each  bought  a  dress  and 
would  have  got  more  if  Mrs.  Settles,  the  man's  wife, 
would  have  sold  them.  How  they  came  to  let  these 
two  go  so  cheap  I  can't  imagine.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
cheating  the  woman  when  I  paid  her  500  dollars  in 
Confederate  money  for  20  yards  of  fairly  good  lawn. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  117 

We  stopped  at  Gum  Pond  on  the  way  back  and  paid 
a  visit.     Albert  Bacon  gave  me  a  beautiful  red-bird! 
that  he  shot  for  me  to  trim  my  hat  with. 

March  16,  Thursday. — Rain,  rain,  rain,  nothing  but 
rain !  The  river  is  out  of  its  banks  again  and  all  that 
part  of  the  plantation  overflowed.  A  chain  of  ponds 
and  lime  sinks  shuts  us  in  behind,  a  great  slough  of 
backwater  from  the  river  cuts  us  off  from  the  negro 
quarter,  Wright's  Creek  is  impassable  on  the  North, 
and  the  Phinizy  pond  on  the  east.  We  are  com- 
pletely water-bound;  nobody  can  come  to  us  and  we 
can  go  nowhere.  The  carriage  house  was  blown  down 
in  the  storm  on  Tuesday  night  and  the  carriage  will 
have  to  be  repaired  before  we  can  use  it  again.  We 
have  not  even  the  mail  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  life; 
sometimes  the  hack  does  not  pass  Gum  Pond  for  four 
days  at  a  time. 

March  20,  Monday. — The  rain  has  stopped  at  last 
and  the  waters  are  beginning  to  subside,  but  the  roads 
are  terrible.  We  have  had  a  mail  at  last,  too,  and  a 
long  letter  from  home  giving  us  carte  blanche  as  to 
future  movements;  as  dear  old  father  expressed  it: 
"  Go  where  you  please,  when  you  please,  do  what  you 
please  and  call  on  Mr.  Farley  or  Mr.  Butler  for  all 
the  money  you  need."  That  is  the  way  I  like  to  be 
treated.  I  think  now  we  will  go  to  Chunnennuggee 
by  way  of  Eufaula  and  the  Chattahoochee.  The  river 
trip  would  be  pleasant,  and  Jenny  and  Julia  Toombs 
are  with  their  aunt  in  Eufaula,  who  has  invited  us 


n8      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  meet  them  there.  However,  our  movements  are 
so  uncertain  that  I  don't  like  to  make  engagements. 
We  will  stop  a  few  days  in  Cuthbert  with  the  Joyners, 
anyway. 

March  21,  Tuesday.  Albany. — Pouring  down  rain 
again,  but  the  carriage  had  to  go  to  Albany  anyway, 
to  meet  sister,  and  Mecca  was  hurried  home  by  news 
of  the  death  of  her  aunt,  so  I  rode  in  to  the  station 
with  her.  The  roads  are  horrible — covered  with 
water  most  of  the  way,  and  the  mischief  with  these 
piney  woods  ponds  is  that  you  never  know  what 
minute  the  bottom  is  going  to  drop  out  and  let  you 
down  with  it  to  the  Lord  only  knows  where.  The 
carriage  was  so  much  out  of  order  that  I  expected  the 
hind  wheels  to  fly  off  at  every  jolt.  I  sent  it  to  the 
shop  to  be  repaired  as  soon  as  Mecca  and  I  were 
safely  deposited  at  Mrs.  Sims's.  The  train  was  not 
due  till  three,  and  our  good  little  friend  occupied  the 
time  in  trying  to  convert  Mecca.  Mec  didn't  abjure 
on  the  spot,  but  held  out  a  flag  of  truce  by  remarking 
that  her  father  had  been  baptized  and  brought  up  in 
the  Episcopal  Church.  His  apostasy  only  made  mat- 
ters worse  in  Mrs.  Sims's  eyes;  she  could  not  under- 
stand how  anybody  reared  in  the  true  faith  could  fall 
away  and  become  a  dissenter. 

"  Oh,  he  was  surfeited  with  the  prayer-book  when 
a  boy,  he  says,"  Mecca  explained,  laughing,  "  like  he 
was  with  hominy  and  milk.  Grandma  used  to  make 
him  eat  it  for  breakfast  every  morning  whether  he 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  119 

wanted  it  or  not,  and  in  the  same  way  she  made  him 
go  to  the  Episcopal  Church  every  Sunday,  whether 
he  wanted  to  or  not,  and  so,  as  soon  as  he  was  old 
enough  to  have  his  own  way,  he  swore  off  from  both." 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  the  zealous  proselyter,  "  I  don't 
see  why  he  should  have  let  his  dislike  of  hominy  and 
milk  drive  him  out  of  the  church !  " 

Mecca  tried  to  explain.  Mrs.  Sims  shook  her  head. 
"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  said,  "  but  don't  you  think  he  did 
wrong  to  let  such  a  thing  as  that  cause  him  to  leave 
the  church?  I  don't  see  what  hominy  and  milk  could 
have  to  do  with  anybody's  religion." 

Mec  laughed  and  gave  it  up.  The  rain  stopped 
about  dinner-time  and  it  was  beautifully  clear  when 
I  drove  to  the  depot  for  sister.  She  was  very  tired 
and  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Sims's,  but  Mecca  and  I 
walked  down  Broad  street  to  the  post  office,  where  we 
were  joined  by  Mr.  Godfrey  and  Dr.  Vason.  They 
and  a  number  of  others  called  in  the  evening. 

March  22,  Wednesday. — Up  very  early  and  drove 
to  the  depot  with  Mecca.  Mr.  Godfrey  was  there 
and  proposed  that  we  should  go  as  far  as  Smithville 
with  her,  and  let  him  drive  me  out  home  in  the  after- 
noon, but  the  roads  are  so  bad  and  the  weather  so 
uncertain  that  I  thought  I  had  better  go  back  with 
sister.  The  journey  was  the  worst  we  have  made  yet. 
We  bogged  at  one  place  and  had  to  wade  through  the 
mud  while  Aby  helped  the  mules  to  pull  the  carriage 
over.     At    Wright's    Creek   we    found    a    crowd    of 


120      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

soldiers  and  countrymen  on  the  bank,  and  they  told 
us  the  creek  was  too  high  to  cross.  Some  of  them 
were  exchanged  prisoners  impatient  to  get  home,  and 
they  had  determined  to  swim  over.  They  stood  on 
the  bank  with  bare  legs,  ready  to  strip  off  and  plunge 
in  the  moment  our  backs  were  turned.  I  couldn't  help 
being  amused  at  the  nonchalance  with  which  one  burly 
fellow  pulled  off  his  stockings  and  commenced  playing 
with  his  toes  while  talking  to  us.  Another,  wishing  to 
call  sister's  attention  to  the  water-mark,  grabbed  her 
by  the  arm  and  led  her  down  the  bank,  saying: 

"  See  this  here  stick  here,  where  the  water  has 
already  begun  to  fall,  an'  hit'll  fall  a  heap  rapider  the 
next  hour  or  two." 

They  meant  no  harm.  These  are  unceremonious 
times,  when  social  distinctions  are  forgotten  and  the 
raggedest  rebel  that  tramps  the  road  in  his  country's 
service  is  entitled  to  more  honor  than  a  king.  We 
stood  on  the  bank  a  long  time,  talking  with  the  poor 
fellows  and  listening  to  their  adventures.  There  was 
one  old  man  standing  on  the  shore,  gazing  across  as 
wistfully  as  Moses  might  have  looked  towards  the 
promised  land.  He  could  not  swim,  but  his  home 
was  over  there,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
plunge  in  and  try  to  cross  at  any  risk.  The  soldiers 
saluted  him  with  a  few  rough  jokes,  and  then  showed 
their  real  metal  by  mounting  him  on  the  back  of  the 
strongest  of  them,  who  waded  in  with  his  burden, 
while  two  others  swam  along  on  each  side  to  give  help 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  121 

in  case  of  accident.  Sister  and  I  thought  at  first  of 
getting  Gen.  Dahlgren  to  send  us  across  in  his  pleasure 
boat,  but  soon  gave  up  the  idea  and  concluded  to  stay 
at  the  Mallarys'  till  the  creek  became  fordable,  for  we 
knew  it  would  fall  as  rapidly  as  it  had  risen.  We 
bid  our  soldier  friends  good-by,  and  drove  away  to 
the  Mallarys',  where  we  spent  a  pleasant  day  and 
night.  Gen.  and  Mrs.  Dahlgren  called  after  dinner 
and  said  that  we  ought  to  have  stopped  with  them. 
Mrs.  Dahlgren  is  a  beautiful  woman,  and  only  twenty- 
two  years  old,  while  her  husband  is  over  sixty.  He 
is  a  pompous  old  fellow  and  entertained  us  by  telling 
how  his  influence  made  Gen.  Joseph  E.  Johnston  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Army  of  Tennessee;  how  Hood 
lost  Atlanta  by  not  following  his  (Dahlgren's)  advice; 
how  he  was  the  real  inventor  of  the  Dahlgren  gun, 
which  is  generally  attributed  to  his  brother,  the 
Yankee  admiral — and  so  on. 

March  23,  Thursday. — We  left  the  Mallarys'  soon 
after  breakfast  and  were  successful  in  crossing  the 
creek.  It  seems  hard  to  believe  that  this  stream, 
which  is  giving  so  much  trouble  now,  will  be  as  dry 
as  a  baked  brick  next  summer.  The  road  on  the 
other  side  was  fairly  good  and  we  got  home  long 
before  dinner-time.  No  letters  waiting  for  me,  but 
a  package  from  Mr.  Herrin  of  Chunnennuggee,  con- 
taining a  beautiful  fox  tail  in  memory  of  our  hunts 
together  on  the  Ridge  last  winter. 

March  27,  Monday. — Went  to  call  on  the  Calla- 


122      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

ways,  Mallarys,  and  Dahlgrens.  The  general  and  his 
wife  were  just  starting  out  to  make  calls  when  we 
drove  up,  so  we  went  along  together.  The  roads  are 
so  perfectly  abominable  that  it  is  no  pleasure  to  go 
anywhere.  At  one  place  the  water  was  half  a  foot 
deep  in  the  bottom  of  the  carriage,  and  we  had  to  ride 
with  our  feet  cocked  up  on  the  seats  to  keep  them  dry. 
Some  of  the  ponds  were  so  deep  as  almost  to  swim 
the  mules,  and  others  were  boggy.  We  stopped  at 
the  post  office  on  our  way  home  and  found  a  letter 
from  Mec  urging  us  to  come  over  to  Cuthbert  right 
away. 

March  28,  Tuesday. — Misses  Caro  and  Lou  Bacon 
spent  the  day  with  us,  but  I  could  not  enjoy  their  visit 
for  thinking  of  the  poor  boy,  Anderson,  who  has  been 
sent  to  jail.  He  implored  me  to  beg  "  missis  "  to  for- 
give him,  and  I  couldn't  help  taking  his  part,  though 
I  know  he  deserved  punishment.  He  refused  to  obey 
the  overseer,  and  ran  away  four  times.  A  soldier 
caught  him  and  brought  him  in  this  morning  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  him.  Such  sights  sicken  me, 
and  I  couldn't  help  crying  when  I  saw  the  poor  wretch, 
though  I  know  discipline  is  necessary,  especially  in 
these  turbulent  times,  and  sister  is  sending  him  to  jail 
more  as  an  example  to  the  others  than  to  hurt  him. 
She  has  sent  strict  orders  to  the  sheriff  not  to  be  too 
severe  with  him,  but  there  is  no  telling  what  brutal 
men  who  never  had  any  negroes  of  their  own  will  do; 
they  don't  know  how  to  feel  for  the  poor  creatures. 


OF    A    GEORGIA  plRL  123 


March  31,  Friday. — Mrs.  Callaway  gave  a  large 
dining,  and  I  wore  a  pretty  new  style  of  head  dress 
Cousin  Bessie  told  me  how  to  make,  that  was  very 
becoming.  It  is  a  small  square,  about  as  big  as  my 
two  hands,  made  of  a  piece  of  black  and  white  lace 
that  ran  the  blockade,  and  nobody  else  has  anything 
like  it.  One  point  comes  over  the  forehead,  just 
where  the  hair  is  parted,  and  the  opposite  one  rests 
on  top  of  the  chignon  behind,  with  a  bow  and  ends  of 
white  illusion.  It  has  the  effect  of  a  Queen  of  Scots 
cap,  and  is  very  stylish.  The  dining  was  rather 
pleasant.  Kate  Callaway's  father,  Mr.  Furlow, 
was  there,  with  his  youngest  daughter,  Nellie,  who 
is  lovely. 

As  we  were  coming  home  we  passed  by  a  place 
where  the  woods  were  on  fire,  and  were  nearly  suffo- 
cated by  the  smoke.  It  was  so  dense  that  we  could 
not  see  across  the  road.  On  coming  round  to  the 
windward  of  the  conflagration  it  was  grand.  The 
smoke  and  cinders  were  blown  away  from  us,  but 
we  felt  the  heat  of  the  flames  and  heard  their  roaring 
in  the  distance.  The  volumes  of  red-hot  smoke  that 
went  up  were  of  every  hue,  according  to  the  materials 
burning  and  the  light  reflected  on  them.  Some  were 
lurid  yellow,  orange,  red,  some  a  beautiful  violet, 
others  lilac,  pink,  purple  or  gray,  while  the  very  fat 
lightwood  sent  up  columns  of  jet-black.  The  figures 
of  the  negroes,  as  they  flitted  about  piling  up  brush 
heaps  and  watching  the  fire  on  the  outskirts  of  the 


i24      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

clearing,  reminded  me  of  old-fashioned  pictures  of  the 
lower  regions. 

April  i,  Saturday. — There  was  fooling  and  counter 
fooling  between  Pine  Bluff  and  Gum  Pond  all  day. 
Jim  Chiles  and  Albert  Bacon  began  it  by  sending  us 
a  beautiful  bouquet  over  which  they  had  sprinkled 
snuff.  We  returned  the  box  that  had  held  the  flowers, 
filled  with  dead  rats  dressed  up  in  capes  and  mob 
caps  like  little  old  women.  Then  Albert  tried  to 
frighten  us  by  sending  a  panicky  note  saying  a  dis- 
patch had  just  been  received  from  Thomasville  that 
the  Yankees  were  devastating  the  country  round  there, 
and  heading  for  Andersonville.  We  pretended  to 
believe  it,  and  sister  wrote  back  as  if  in  great  alarm, 
inquiring  further  particulars.  Albert  got  his  father 
to  answer  with  a  made-up  story  that  he  and  Wallace 
had  both  gone  to  help  fight  the  raiders  at  Thomas- 
ville. They  must  have  thought  us  fools  indeed,  to  be- 
lieve that  the  enemy  could  come  all  the  way  from 
Tallahassee  or  Savannah  to  Thomasville,  without  our 
hearing  a  word  of  it  till  they  got  there,  but  we  pre- 
tended to  swallow  it  all,  and  got  sister  to  write  back 
that  Metta  and  I  were  packing  our  trunks  and  would 
leave  for  Albany  immediately,  so  as  to  take  the  first 
train  for  Macon;  and  to  give  color  to  the  story,  she 
sent  word  for  Tommy,  who  was  spending  the  day 
with  Loring  Bacon,  to  come  home  and  tell  his  aunties 
good-by.  They  were  caught  with  their  own  bait,  and 
Albert  and  Jimmy,  fearing  they  had  carried  the  joke 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  125 

too  far,  came  galloping  over  at  full  speed  to  prevent 
our  setting  out.  We  saw  them  coming  across  the 
field,  and  Mett  and  I  hid  ourselves,  while  sister  met 
them  with  a  doleful  countenance,  pretending  that  we 
had  already  gone  and  that  she  was  frightened  out  of 
her  wits.  She  had  rubbed  her  eyes  to  make  them 
look  as  if  she  had  been  crying,  and  the  children  and 
servants,  too,  had  been  instructed  to  pretend  to  be  in 
a  great  flurry.  When  the  jokers  confessed  their  trick, 
she  pretended  to  be  so  hurt  and  angry  that  they  were 
in  dismay,  thinking  they  had  really  driven  us  off, 
though  all  the  while  we  were  locked  in  our  own  room, 
peeping  through  the  cracks,  listening  to  it  all,  and 
ready  to  burst  with  laughter.  They  had  mounted 
their  horses  and  declared  that  they  would  go  after 
us  and  fetch  us  back,  if  they  had  to  ride  all  the  way 
to  Albany,  when  old  Uncle  Setley  spoiled  our  whole 
plot  by  laughing  and  yawping  so  that  he  excited  their 
suspicion.  They  got  down  from  their  horses  and 
began  to  look  for  wheel  tracks  on  the  ground,  and  at 
last  Jim,  who  missed  his  calling  in  not  being  a  detec- 
tive, went  and  peeped  into  the  carriage-house  and 
saw  the  carriage  standing  there  in  its  place.  This 
convinced  them  that  we  had  not  gone  to  Albany,  but 
where  were  we  ?  Then  began  the  most  exciting  game 
of  hide-and-seek  I  ever  played.  Such  a  jumping  in 
and  out  of  windows,  crawling  under  beds  and  sliding 
into  corners,  was  never  done  before.  The  children 
and  servants,  all  but  old  fool  Setley,  acted  their  parts 


126     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

well,  but  Jimmy  was  not  to  be  foiled.  They  bid  sister 
good-by  several  times  and  rode  away  as  if  they  were 
going  home,  then  suddenly  returned  in  the  hope  of 
taking  us  by  surprise.  At  last,  after  dark,  we  thought 
they  were  off  for  good,  and  went  in  to  supper,  taking 
the  precaution,  however,  to  bar  the  front  door  and 
draw  the  dining-room  curtains.  But  we  had  hardly 
begun  to  eat  when  Jimmy  burst  into  the  room,  ex- 
claiming : 

"  Howdy  do,  Miss  Fanny;  you  made  a  short  trip 
to  Albany." 

We  all  jumped  up  from  the  table  and  began  to  bom- 
bard him  with  hot  biscuits  and  muffins,  and  whatever 
else  we  could  lay  hands  on.  Then  Mr.  Bacon  came 
in,  a  truce  was  declared,  and  we  sat  down  and  ate 
supper — or  what  was  left  of  it — together.  After 
supper  we  made  Uncle  Aby  hitch  up  the  carriage  and 
drive  us  over  to  Gum  Pond  to  surprise  the  family 
there.  I  dressed  myself  up  like  an  old  cracker  woman 
and  went  in  and  asked  for  a  night's  lodging.  Maj. 
Bacon  thought  I  was  Leila  trying  to  play  a  trick  on 
him,  so  he  dragged  me  very  unceremoniously  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  under  the  lamp,  and  pulled  my 
bonnet  off.  It  was  funny  to  see  his  embarrassment 
when  he  saw  his  mistake;  he  is  so  awfully  punctilious. 
He  said  he  was  in  the  act  of  writing  a  note  to  send 
after  us  to  Albany,  when  I  came  in.  They  were  all  so 
delighted  at  finding  they  had  not  frightened  us  out 
of  the  country,  that  we  had  a  grand  jubilee  together. 


JULIA,   DAUGHTER    OF    MRS.    TROUP    BUTLER 

(Mrs.  \Y.  H.  Toombs) 

From  a  photograph  taken  about  1873 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  127 

We  counted  up  before  returning  home,  and  found  that 
forty-four  miles  had  been  ridden  back  and  forth  dur- 
ing the  day  on  account  of  this  silly  April- fooling.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  enjoyed  a  day  more  in  my  life.  It 
began  happily,  too,  with  Anderson's  return  from  jail 
early  in  the  morning,  and  peace-making  with  his 
"  missis."  I  expect  we  were  all  as  glad  of  the  poor 
darkey's  release  as  he  was  himself.  Mett  says  she 
wouldn't  care  much  if  they  could  all  be  set  free — but 
what  on  earth  could  we  do  with  them,  even  if  we 
wanted  to  free  them  ourselves  ?  And  to  have  a  gang 
of  meddlesome  Yankees  come  down  here  and  take 
them  away  from  us  by  force — I  would  never  submit 
to  that,  not  even  if  slavery  were  as  bad  as  they  pretend. 
I  think  the  best  thing  to  do,  if  the  Confederacy  were 
to  gain  its  independence,  would  be  to  make  a  law 
confiscating  the  negroes  of  any  man  who  was  cruel 
to  them,  and  allowing  them  to  choose  their  own 
master.  Of  course  they  would  choose  the  good  men, 
and  this  would  make  it  to  everybody's  interest  to  treat 
them  properly. 

April  2,  Sunday. — I  went  to  church  at  Mt.  Enon. 
After  service  we  stopped  to  tell  everybody  good-by, 
and  I  could  hardly  help  crying,  for  we  are  to  leave 
sure  enough  on  Tuesday,  and  there  is  no  telling  what 
may  happen  before  we  come  back;  the  Yankees  may 
have  put  an  end  to  our  glorious  old  plantation  life 
forever.  I  went  to  the  quarter  after  dinner  and  told 
the  negroes  good-by.     Poor  things,  I  may  never  see 


\ 


128      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

any  of  them  again,  and  even  if  I  do,  everything  will 
be  different.  We  all  went  to  bed  crying,  sister,  the 
children,  and  servants.  Farewells  are  serious  things 
in  these  times,  when  one  never  knows  where  or  under 
what  circumstances  friends  will  meet  again.  I  wish 
there  was  some  way  of  getting  to  one  place  without 
leaving  another  where  you  want  to  be  at  the  same 
time;  some  fourth  dimension  possibility,  by  which  we 
might  double  our  personality. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  129 


CHAPTER  III 

A  RACE   WITH    THE   ENEMY 

April  3-22,  1865 

Explanatory  Note. — There  is  hardly  anything  in  this 
chapter  but  will  easily  explain  itself.  The  war  was  vir- 
tually over  when  we  left  our  sister,  though  we  did  not 
know  it,  and  the  various  raids  and  forays  alluded  to  in 
the  journal  were  really  nothing  but  the  march  of  vic- 
torious generals  to  take  possession  of  a  conquered 
country.  Communication  was  so  interrupted  that  we  did 
not  hear  of  the  fall  of  Richmond  till  the  6th  of  April, 
four  days  after  it  happened,  and  no  certain  news  of  Lee's 
surrender  reached  us  till  the  20th,  eleven  days  after  the 
event,  though  we  caught  vague  rumors  of  it  on  the  19th. 

Chunnennuggee  Ridge,  to  which  allusion  is  made  in 
this  chapter  and  the  preceding,  is  a  name  given  to  a  tall 
escarpment  many  miles  in  length,  overlooking  the  rich 
prairie  lands  of  South-East  Alabama.  On  top  of  this 
bluff  the  owners  of  the  great  cotton  plantations  in  the 
prairie  made  their  homes,  and  for  some  five  or  six  miles 
north  of  the  town  of  Union  Springs,  about  midway  be- 
tween Montgomery  and  Eufaula,  the  edge  of  the  bluff 
was  lined  with  a  succession  of  stately  mansions  sur- 
rounded by  beautiful  parks  and  gardens,  very  much  as 
the  water  front  of  a  fashionable  seaside  resort  is  built  up 
to-day.  The  writer  had  frequently  visited  this  delight- 
ful place  with  her  cousin,  Miss  Victoria  Hoxey  (Tolie 
of  the  diary),  who  had  a  married  sister  living  there. 


130     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

April  3,  Monday.  Albany,  Ga. — All  of  us  very 
miserable  at  the  thought  of  parting.  Mrs.  Meals  goes 
with  us  as  far  as  Wooten's,  on  her  way  to  Gopher 
Hill,  so  sister  and  the  children  are  left  alone.  Brother 
Troup  has  been  ordered  to  Gen.  Wofford's  command 
in  North  Georgia,  and  this  separation  adds  to  her 
feeling  of  loneliness,  but  she  and  the  children  will  soon 
join  us  in  Washington,  so  it  won't  matter  so  much. 
The  ride  to  Albany  was  very  unpleasant,  the  sun 
scorching  hot,  the  glare  of  the  sand  blinding,  and  Mrs. 
Meals  with  a  headache.  Mr.  George  Hull  writes  that 
the  Georgia  R.R.  will  be  open  for  travel  by  the  last 
of  this  month,  and  so  our  visits  to  Cuthbert  and  Macon 
will  just  fill  in  the  interval  for  Mett  and  me.  We 
can  then  go  home  by  way  of  Atlanta.  It  is  something 
to  think  we  will  be  able  to  go  all  the  way  by  rail  and 
won't  have  to  undergo  that  troublesome  wagon  ride 
again  across  the  country. 

April  4,  Cuthbert,  Ga.,  Tuesday. — Up  early  and 
at  the  depot.  Jim  Chiles  accompanied  us  as  far  as 
Smithville.  We  had  to  wait  five  hours  there  for  the 
train  to  Cuthbert.  The  hotel  was  so  uninviting  that 
we  stayed  in  the  car,  putting  down  the  blinds  and 
making  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  could.  Capt. 
Warwick,  who  is  stationed  there,  was  very  kind  and 
attentive.  He  paid  us  a  call  in  our  impromptu  parlor, 
and  made  some  of  his  hands  bring  in  buckets  of  water 
and  sprinkle  the  floor  to  cool  it  off  a  little.  Just  be- 
fore the  train  arrived  on  which  we  were  to  leave,  there 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  131 

came  one  with  1,100  Yankee  prisoners  on  their  way 
from  Anderson  en  route  for  Florida,  to  be  ex- 
changed.* 

The  guard  fired  a  salute  as  they  passed,  and  some  of 
the  prisoners  had  the  impudence  to  kiss  their  hands 
at  us — but  what  better  cauld  be  expected  of  the  foreign 
riff-raff  that  make  up  the  bulk  of  the  Yankee  army? 
If  they  had  not  been  prisoners  I  would  have  felt  like 
they  ought  to  have  a  lesson  in  manners,  for  insulting 
us,  but  as  it  was,  I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be 
angry.  They  were  half -naked,  and  such  a  poor,  mis- 
erable, starved-looking  set  of  wretches  that  we  couldn't 
help  feeling  sorry  for  them  in  spite  of  their  wicked 
war  against  our  country,  and  threw  what  was  left  of 
our  lunch  at  them,  as  their  train  rattled  by,  thinking 
it  would  feed  two  or  three  of  them,  at  least.  But 
our  aim  was  bad,  and  it  fell  short,  so  the  poor  crea- 
tures didn't  get  it,  and  if  any  of  them  noticed,  I  expect 

they  thought  we  were  only  "  d d  rebel  women  " 

throwing  our  waste  in  their  faces  to  insult  them.  I 
am  glad  they  are  going  to  be  exchanged,  anyway,  and 
leave  a  climate  that  seems  to  be  so  unfriendly  to  them, 
though  I  think  it  is  the  garden  spot  of  the  world.  If 
I  had  my  choice  of  all  the  climates  I  know  anything 


*  This  was  a  mistake.  The  Confederacy  having  now  practically 
collapsed,  and  the  government  being  unable  to  care  for  them  any 
longer,  the  prisoners  remaining  in  the  stockade  were  sent  to  Jack- 
sonville, where  the  Federals  were  in  possession,  and  literally  forced 
back  as  a  free  gift  on  their  friends. 


132      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

about,  to  live  in,  I  would  choose  the  region  between 
Macon  and  Thomasville. 

The  railroad  from  Smithville  to  Cuthbert  runs  into 
the  "  oaky  woods  "  beyond  Smithville,  which  are  more 
broken  and  undulating  than  the  pine  flats,  and  the 
swamps  are  larger  and  more  beautiful  on  account  of 
the  greater  variety  of  vegetation.  They  are  a  huge 
mosaic,  at  this  season,  of  wild  azaleas,  Atamasco 
lilies,  yellow  jessamine,  and  a  hundred  other  brilliant 
wild  flowers.  My  taste  may  be  very  perverted,  but  to 
my  mind  there  is  no  natural  scenery  in  the  world  so 
beautiful  as  a  big  Southern  swamp  in  springtime.  It 
has  its  beauty  in  winter,  too,  with  the  somber  cypress, 
the  stately  magnolias,  the  silvery  bays,  and  the  jungle 
of  shrubs  and  vines,  gay  with  the  red  berries  of  holly 
and  winter  smilax.  The  railroad  from  Smithville  to 
Cuthbert  is  lined  on  both  sides  with  saw  mills,  getting 
out  lumber  for  the  government,  and  they  are  destroy- 
ing the  beauty  of  the  country. 

The  Joyner  girls  and  Capt.  Greenlaw  were  at  the 
depot  to  meet  us.  Mr.  Joyner  has  bought  an  old  hotel 
here  for  his  family  to  refugee  in,  and  it  really  makes 
a  very  pleasant  residence,  though  not  to  compare  with 
their  pretty  home  in  Atlanta,  that  the  Yankees  de-  * 
stroyed.  Cousin  Boiling's  hospital  has  been  moved 
here  from  Americus,  and  he  and  his  little  stepson, 
Brown  Ayres,  are  boarding  with  the  Joyners.  Dr. 
Robertson,  of  Virginia,  and  Capt.  Graybill,  of  Macon, 
are  also  members  of  the  household.     In  these  days,  \ 


OF   A   GEORGIA    GIRL  133 

when  everybody  is  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  and 
half  the  world  is  refugeeing,  most  people  who  are 
fortunate  enough  to  possess  homes  have  very  hetero- 
geneous households. 

The  village  seems  to  be  very  gay.  We  found  an 
invitation  awaiting  us  for  to-morrow  night  and  the 
gentlemen  in  the  house  proposed  a  theater-party  for 
this  evening,  to  see  the  amateurs,  but  it  is  Lent,  and  I 
am  trying  to  do  better  in  the  way  of  refraining  from 
worldly  amusements  and  mortifying  the  flesh,  than  I 
did  in  Montgomery  last  spring,  so  we  spent  the  even- 
ing at  home. 

April  5,  Wednesday. — Just  before  daylight  we  were 
awakened  by  a  lovely  serenade,  and  I  gave  myself  a 
sore  throat  trotting  over  the  house  bare-footed,  hunt- 
ing for  flowers  to  throw  to  the  serenaders.  Mett  and 
Mary  had  all  that  were  in  the  house  in  their  room, 
and  would  not  give  the  rest  of  us  any.  Their  finest 
bouquet  lodged  in  the  boughs  of  a  spreading  willow 
oak  near  the  window,  and  then  we  had  the  laugh  on 
them. 

The  girls  were  busy  all  day  getting  ready  for  Miss 
Long's  wedding.  I  might  take  more  credit  to  myself 
for  keeping  Lent  if  I  had  anything  to  wear,  but  my 
one  new  dress  isn't  made  up  yet,  and  everything  else 
I  have  is  too  frazzled  out  to  wear.  Dr.  Robertson 
and  Capt.  Graybill,  both  pretending  to  be  good  Episco- 
palians, urged  me  to  go,  but  that  unfinished  dress  was 
a  powerful  support  to  my  conscience.     I  fixed  Metta 


134      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

up  beautifully,  though,  and  she  was  very  much  ad- 
mired. Her  hair  that  she  lost  last  fall,  from  typhoid 
fever,  has  grown  out  curly,  and  her  head  is  frizzled 
beautifully  all  over,  without  the  bother  of  irons  and 
curl-papers.  Metta  says  she  never  saw  more  elegant 
dressing  than  at  Miss  Long's  wedding,  which  is  a  great 
credit  to  the  taste  and  ingenuity  of  our  Southern  girls 
in  patching  up  pretty  things  out  of  all  sorts  of  odds 
and  ends. 

Capt.  Tennille,  an  acquaintance  of  Garnett's,  dined 
here,  and  five  of  Cousin  Boiling's  patients  called  in 
the  afternoon.  One  of  them,  Capt.  Guy,  had  had  a 
curious  experience  with  a  minie  ball  that  knocked  out 
one  tooth  and  passed  out  at  the  back  of  his  neck  with- 
out killing  him.  I  laughed  and  told  him  he  was  cer- 
tainly born  to  be  hanged.  Another  poor  fellow,  with 
a  dreadfully  ugly  face,  had  six  battle  scars  to  make 
him  interesting. 

A  report  has  come  that  the  Yankees  have  taken 
Selma,  and  a  raid  is  advancing  towards  Eufaula,  so 
that  puts  a  stop  to  our  Chunnennuggee  trip.  I  can't 
say  that  I  am  disappointed,  for  I  don't  want  to  turn 
my  face  from  home  any  more,  but  Mett  was  anxious 
to  make  the  trip,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  mean  not 
to  go  with  her. 

April  6,  Thursday. — Capt.  Greenlaw  brought  his 
flute  and  spent  the  morning.  He  is  red-headed  and 
ugly,  but  very  musical,  and  such  jolly  good  company 
that  one  can't  help  liking  him.     I  don't  know  when  I 


WAR-TIME    FASHION'S 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  135 

have  met  a  person  that  seemed  so  genial  and  altogether 
lovable,  in  a  brotherly  sort  of  way.  ...  I  took  a 
long  walk  through  the  village  with  Capt.  .Greenlaw 
after  dinner,  and  was  charmed  with  the  lovely  gardens 
and  beautiful  shade  trees.  On  coming  home,  I  heard  of 
the  fall  of  Richmond.  Everybody  feels  very  blue,  but 
not  disposed  to  give  up  as  long  as  we  have  Lee.  Poor 
Dr.  Robertson  has  been  nearly  distracted  since  he 
heard  the  news.  His  wife  and  five  little  children  are 
on  a  farm  near  Petersburg,  and  he  don't  know  what 
is  to  become  of  them. 

April  7,  Friday. — Capt.  Greenlaw  spent  the  day  here 
and  brought  me  the  biggest  bouquet  of  the  biggest  red 
roses  I  ever  saw;  I  couldn't  help  laughing  when  he 
threw  it  into  my  lap.  He  calls  me  "  cousin,"  because  he 
says  we  both  have  such  red  heads  that  we  ought  to  be 
kin.  There  is  something  in  his  easy,  good-natured  way 
of  laughing  and  joking  about  everything  that  reminds 
me  a  good  deal  of  Fred.  And  he  has  the  sweetest 
way  in  the  world  of  carrying  flowers  about  with  him, 
and  slipping  them  into  your  work  basket,  or  throwing 
them  into  your  lap,  or  laying  them  on  your  handker- 
chief— no  matter  where,  but  I  can  always  tell  when  he 
has  been  about  by  finding  a  full-blown  rose,  or  a  sprig 
of  wild  honeysuckle,  or  a  bunch  of  swamp  lilies,  or 
some  other  big  bright  flower  lying  around  among  my 
things.  It  rained  most  of  the  day,  but  was  not  too 
wet  for  many  callers,  and  another  long  walk  in  the 
afternoon  through  this  pretty  little  town.     The  two 


136      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

female  colleges  have  been  turned  into  hospitals,,  one  of 
which  is  under  Cousin  Boiling's  charge. 

The  news  this  evening  is  that  Montgomery  has  gone, 
and  the  new  capital  of  the  Confederacy  will  be  either 
Macon,  or  Athens,  Georgia.  The  war  is  closing  in 
upon  us  from  all  sides.  I  am  afraid  there  are 
rougher  times  ahead  than  we  have  ever  known  yet.  I 
wish  I  was  safe  at  home.  Since  Brother  Troup  has 
been  ordered  from  Macon  our  chance  of  getting  a  gov- 
ernment wagon  is  gone,  and  the  railroad  won't  be 
finished  through  to  Atlanta  for  a  week  or  ten  days  yet. 
If  ever  I  do  get  back  home  again,  I  will  stay  there  till 
the  war  is  over. 

April  8,  Saturday. — Cousin  Boiling  has  returned 
from  his  visit  to  Americus.  Mary,  Lizzie,  Mett,  and 
I  went  to  the  depot  to  meet  him  and  hear  the  news, 
then  took  a  walk  through  Lovers'  Lane,  a  beautiful 
shady  road  that  runs  through  woods  so  thick  as  to 
make  solid  walls  of  green  on  either  side.  It  is  inter- 
sected with  other  roads  as  white  and  shady  as  itself, 
with  all  sorts  of  wild  flowers  blooming  on  the 
ground  and  climbing  over  the  trees.  This  is  indeed 
one  of  the  loveliest  villages  I  ever  was  in,  but  it  has 
one  most  unromantic  drawback;  it  is  awfully  infested 
with  fleas.  They  are  like  an  Egyptian  plague,  and 
keep  you  wriggling  and  squirming  in  a  perpetual 
struggle  against  the  vulgar  impulse  to  scratch. 

Everybody  is  talking  about  the  gloomy  aspect  of 
affairs.     Capt.  Greenlaw  spent  the  morning  as  usual, 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  137 

and  the  more  I  see  of  him  the  better  I  like  him  for  his 
bright,  cheery  disposition.  Among  those  who  called 
in  the  evening,  was  a  Mr.  Renaud,  of  New  Orleans, 
whom  I  liked  very  much.  He  has  that  charming 
Creole  accent  which  would  make  it  a  pleasure  to  listen 
to  him,  even  if  he  were  not  so  nice  himself. 

April  9,  Sunday. — I  went  to  worship  with  a  little 
band  of  Episcopalians,  mostly  refugees,  who  meet 
every  Sunday  in  a  schoolhouse.  It  is  a  rough  place, 
with  very  uncomfortable  benches,  but  beautifully  sit- 
uated in  a  grove  just  at  the  entrance  to  Lovers'  Lane. 
The  services  were  conducted  by  old  Mr.  George,  who 
used  to  come  out  to  the  Tallassee  plantation,  as  far 
back  as  I  can  remember,  and  hold  mission  services 
for  father's  and  Mr.  Nightingale's  negroes,  some- 
times in  Uncle  Jacob's  cabin,  sometimes  in  the  little 
log  chapel  on  Mr.  Nightingale's  Silver  Lake  place. 
He  teaches  in  the  little  schoolhouse  all  the  week  to 
support  his  family — a  full  baker's  dozen — and  holds 
church  services  on  Sundays  for  the  refugees  and 
soldiers  of  the  faith  that  have  stranded  here.  He  has 
spent  his  life  in  mission  work,  laying  the  foundation 
of  churches  for  other  men  to  build  on.  There  is 
something  very  touching  in  the  unrewarded  labor  of 
this  good  man,  grown  gray  in  the  service  of  his  God. 
The  churches  he  builds  up,  as  soon  as  they  begin  to 
prosper,  ask  the  bishop  for  another  pastor.  He  wore 
no  surplice,  and  his  threadbare  silk  gown  was,  I  verily 

believe,  the  same  that  he  used  to  wear  in  the  old  plan- 
10 


138      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

tation  chapel.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  him — his  con- 
gregation still  more  so.  It  consisted  mainly  of  poor 
wounded  soldiers  from  the  hospitals,  especially  in  the 
afternoon,  when  there  were  no  services  in  the  other 
churches.  They  came,  some  limping  on  crutches,  some 
with  scarred  and  mangled  faces,  some  with  empty 
sleeves,  nearly  all  with  poor,  emaciated  bodies,  tell- 
ing their  mute  tale  of  sickness  and  suffering,  weari- 
ness and  heartache.  I  saw  one  poor  lame  fellow 
leading  a  blind  one,  who  held  on  to  his  crutch.  An- 
other had  a  blind  comrade  hanging  upon  one  arm 
while  an  empty  sleeve  dangled  where  the  other  ought 
to  be.  I  have  seen  men  since  I  came  here  with  both 
eyes  shot  out,  men  with  both  arms  off,  and  one  poor 
fellow  with  both  arms  and  a  leg  gone.  What  can 
our  country  ever  do  to  repay  such  sacrifice?  And 
yet,  it  is  astonishing  to  see  how  cheerful  these  brave 
fellows  are,  especially  Cousin  Boiling's  patients,  who 
laughingly  dub  themselves  "  The  Blind  Brigade." 

I  went  to  the  Baptist  Church  with  the  Joyner  girls 
at  night.  Metta  and  I  were  more  amused  than  edified 
during  the  sermon  by  hearing  ourselves  discussed  in 
whispers  by  some  people  directly  behind  us.  Two  of 
them  got  into  a  dispute  as  to  which  was  the  best  look- 
ing, but  we  could  not  hear  how  they  decided  it.  One 
of  them  suggested  that  we  were  twins,  and  this  gave 
me  a  good  laugh  on  Mett,  who  is  so  much  younger 
and  better-looking  than  I,  that  the  comparison  was 
not  at  all  flattering  to  her. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  139 

April  10,  Monday. — The  day  was  largely  taken  up 
with  callers.  When  there  is  nothing  else  to  do,  we 
amuse  ourselves  by  sitting  at  the  windows  and  looking 
into  the  streets.  Mr.  Joyner's  house  is  between  the 
post  office  and  the  quarters  of  the  provost  guard,  and 
just  beyond  the  latter  is  a  schoolhouse,  so  we  are 
never  at  a  loss  for  something  to  amuse  us.  The 
fashionable  promenade  of  the  village  is  up  and  down 
the  street  that  runs  in  front  of  the  house,  but  I  like 
better  to  walk  in  the  woods,  which  are  very  beautiful 
around  here. 

The  tableaux  club  met  at  Mrs.  Joyner's  in  the  even- 
ing. Metta  and  I  will  not  be  in  Cuthbert  long  enough 
to  take  part  in  the  entertainment,  but  were  admitted 
to  the  rehearsal.  After  the  rehearsal  some  one  sug- 
gested that  we  should  go  out  serenading.  There  were 
several  good  voices  in  the  party,  and  after  calling  at 
one  or  two  private  houses,  somebody  said  it  would  be 
a  good  idea  to  go  and  cheer  up  the  soldiers  in  the  Hood 
Hospital,  which  was  but  a  block  or  two  away,  with 
some  war  songs.  The  poor  fellows  were  so  delighted 
when  they  heard  us  that  all  who  were  able,  dressed 
themselves  and  came  out  on  the  terraces,  while  others 
crowded  to  the  windows  and  balconies.  They  sent 
a  shower  of  roses  down  on  us,  and  threw  with  them 
slips  of  paper  with  the  names  of  the  songs  they  wished 
to  hear.     We  gave  them  first : 

'  Cheer,  boys,  cheer,  we  march  away  to  battle," 


140      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

which  pleased  them  so  much  that  they  called  for  it  a 
second  time.  Then  some  one  struck  up  "  Vive 
V Amour,"  and  Mett  gave  an  impromptu  couplet : 

"  Here's  to  the  boys  in  Confederate  gray, 
Vive  la  comfiagnie, 
Who  never  their  country  nor  sweethearts  betray, 
Vive,  etc." 

While  the  soldiers  were  clapping  and  shouting  the 
chorus,  two  good  lines  popped  into  my  head,  and  when 
the  noise  had  subsided  a  little,  I  sang: 

"  Here's  a  toast  to  the  boys  who  go  limping  on  crutches, 
Vive  la  compagnie, 
They  have  saved  our  land  from  the  enemies'  clutches, 
Vive,  etc." 

I  waved  my  hand  at  a  group  of  brave  fellows  lean- 
ing on  crutches,  as  I  finished,  and  a  regular  rebel  yell 
went  up  from  the  hospital  grounds.  Flowers  were 
rained  down  from  the  windows,  and  I  never  was  so 
delighted  in  my  life — to  think  that  my  little  knack  of 
stringing  rhymes  together  had  served  some  good  pur- 
pose for  once.  The  soldiers  clapped  and  shouted  and 
rattled  their  crutches  together,  and  one  big  fellow 
standing  near  me  threw  up  his  battered  old  war  hat, 
and  cried  out : 

"  Bully  for  you !  give  us  some  more !  "  and  then 
I  added: 

"Here's  death  to  the  men  who  wear  Federal  blue, 
They  are  cowardly,  cruel,  perfidious,  untrue,"  etc. 


OF   A   GEORGIA    GIRL  141 

But  after  all,  it  looks  as  if  the  wretches  are  going  to 
bring  death,  or  slavery  that  is  worse  than  death,  to  us. 
We  may  sing  and  try  to  put  on  a  brave  face,  but  alas ! 
who  can  tell  what  the  end  of  it  all  is  to  be  ? 

April  11,  Tuesday. — I  slept  all  the  morning  and 
was  only  wakened  in  the  afternoon  by  Mary  Joyner 
pulling  at  my  feet  and  telling  me  to  get  up  for  dinner. 
I  like  Mary.  Her  manner  is  abrupt,  but  she  is  gen- 
erosity itself.  Her  devotion  to  the  sick  and  wounded 
soldiers  is  beautiful.  Often  she  will  go  without  her 
dinner  and  always  denies  herself  any  special  delicacy 
that  happens  to  be  on  the  table,  in  order  to  take  it  to 
one  of  the  hospitals.  Almost  every  mail  brings  her 
grateful  letters  from  the  soldiers  she  has  nursed,  or 
from  the  wives  and  sweethearts  of  those  who  will 
never  need  her  services  again.  I  love  to  hear  her  tell 
about  her  experiences  in  the  Atlanta  hospitals  during 
the  siege.  Some  of  them  are  very  funny,  but  more 
of  them  are  sad.  She  was  called  "  the  hospital 
angel  "  in  Atlanta,  and  well  deserved  the  name. 

The  Cuthbert  Thespian  Corps  gave  Richelieu  at  the 
theater  this  evening,  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospitals. 
Dr.  Robertson  acted  the  part  of  De  Mauprat,  and  I 
dressed  him  for  the  occasion  in  the  velvet  cloak  I 
bought  from  Mrs.  Sims,  and  sleeves  of  crimson  silk 
that  had  been  the  trousers  of  a  Turkish  costume  that 
sister  wore  at  a  fancy  ball  in  Columbus  before  the 
war.  I  didn't  go  to  see  the  play  because  I  am  keeping 
Lent. 


142      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

April  12,  Wednesday. — Breakfast  so  late  that  vis- 
itors began  to  call  before  we  had  finished.  In  the 
evening,  Mr.  Renaud  and  Mr.  Jeffers  called.  Mr. 
Jeffers  is  a  wonderful  mimic,  and  sings  a  comic  song 
so  well  that  I  told  him  I  wondered  how  he  ever  escaped 
being  a  vagabond.  Dr.  Robertson  had  got  leave  to 
start  for  Virginia  in  the  morning,  and  was  having  a 
farewell  party  of  gentlemen  in  his  room,  whom  he 
seemed  to  be  entertaining  chiefly  on  tobacco  and 
"  straws."  After  a  while  they  joined  us  in  the  parlor, 
and  Mr.  Jeffers  introduced  each  one  as  he  came  in, 
with  a  happy  little  rhyming  couplet  on  his  name  or 
occupation.  Altogether,  it  was  one  of  the  brightest, 
wittiest  things  I  ever  heard,  though  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  some  of  the  company  gave  evidence  of  having 
indulged  too  freely  in  "  straws,"  with  the  usual  sea- 
sonings. Dr.  Boyd  says  that  my  little  rhyme  about 
the  boys  on  crutches  did  the  sick  soldiers  more  good 
than  all  his  medicines.  Some  poor  fellows  who  had 
hardly  noticed  anything  for  a  week,  he  says,  laughed 
and  clapped  their  hands  like  happy  children,  as  they 
lay  on  their  beds  and  listened.  He  says  they  have 
been  talking  about  it  ever  since. 

April  13,  Thursday. — Slept  away  the  morning  as 
usual,  and  spent  the  afternoon  returning  calls,  as  that 
seems  to  be  the  fashionable  time  for  visiting  in  Cuth- 
bert.  The  tableaux  club  met  at  Dr.  Jackson's  in  the 
evening  and  after  rehearsal  we  went  to  serenade  the 
soldiers  at  the  Hill  Hospital,  as  it  would  seem  like 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  143 

slighting  them  to  pass  them  by  after  serenading  the 
others.  But  they  knew  we  were  coming  and  so  things 
didn't  go  off  with  the  warmth  and  naturalness  of  our 
other  visit.  They  had  prepared  an  entertainment  for 
us,  and  brought  us  some  lemonade  made  with  brown 
sugar  and  citric  acid.  It  was  dreadful  stuff,  but  the 
dear  fellows  were  giving  us  the  best  they  had,  and,  I 
am  afraid,  depriving  themselves  of  supplies  they 
needed  for  their  own  use.  While  we  were  drinking, 
somebody  led  off  with  a  verse  of  the  "  Confederate 
Toast  "  and  then  looked  at  me,  and  I  added  one  that 
I  felt  half -ashamed  of  because  I  had  made  it  up  be- 
forehand and  felt  like  an  impostor,  but  couldn't  help 
it  when  I  knew  beforehand  what  was  coming: 

"  Here's  to  the  Southern  rebel,  drink  it  down; 
Here's  to  the  Southern  rebel,  drink  it  down ; 
Here's  to  the  Southern  rebel, 
May  his  enemies  go  to  the " 

I  came  to  a  sudden  stop  at  the  last  word  and  the 
soldiers,  with  a  laugh  and  a  yell,  took  up  the  chorus 
and  carried  it  through.  Then  we  amused  ourselves 
for  some  time  answering  each  other  with  couplets, 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent — mostly  indifferent.  My 
parting  one  was: 

"  Hurrah  for  the  soldiers  who  stay  on  the  Hill ; 
They  have  fought,  they  have  suffered,  they  are  full  of  pluck  still." 

April  15,  Saturday. — A  new  rumor,  that  the  Yan- 
kees are  at  Glenville,  advancing  on  Eufaula,  but  those 


144     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

best  qualified  to  judge  seem  to  think  this  move  only  a 
feint,  and  that  their  real  destination  is  Columbus.  We 
seem  to  have  been  followed  all  winter  by  storms  and 
floods  and  Yankee  panics.  We  are  not  much  dis- 
turbed by  this  one,  however,  as  we  expect  to  leave  for 
Macon  on  Monday,  anyway. 

Capt.  Greenlaw  and  Mr.  Renaud  called  in  the  after- 
noon, but  I  was  frizzing  my  hair  and  the  other  girls 
were  asleep,  so  none  of  us  went  downstairs  to  see 
them.  Capt.  Greenlaw  came  again  in  the  evening,  but 
he  was  either  sick  or  in  love,  for  he  didn't  laugh  and 
tease  as  usual,  and  kept  asking  for  sentimental  songs. 

April  16,  Easter  Sunday. — The  brightest,  loveliest 
day  I  ever  beheld,  and  our  little  schoolhouse  of  a 
chapel  was  well-filled,  considering  how  few  Episco- 
palians are  here.  Twelve  females  and  not  a  single 
male  received  the  communion.  Capt.  Greenlaw  went 
with  me  to  the  afternoon  service  while  the  other  girls 
were  taking  their  nap,  and  we  had  a  pleasant  stroll 
afterwards  through  the  woods.  On  the  way  home 
we  met  Cousin  Boiling's  servant,  Jordan,  who  told  me 
that  Jenny  and  Julia  Toombs  were  at  the  hotel  with 
their  father  and  had  sent  for  Mett  and  me  to  come 
and  see  them.  They  had  passed  through  Cuthbert  on 
the  morning  train  from  Eufaula,  but  they  had  not 
gone  fifteen  miles  beyond  it  when  the  boiler  to  their 
engine  burst,  and  they  had  to  come  back  on  the  after- 
noon train  and  spend  the  night  here.  We  went  imme- 
diately to  the  hotel  and  had  a  grand  jubilee  together. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  145 

April  17,  Monday.  Macon,  Ga. — Up  early,  to  be 
ready  for  the  train  at  seven.  The  Toombses  met  us  at 
the  depot,  where  Capt.  Greenlaw,  Mr.  Renaud,  and  a 
number  of  others  came  to  see  us  off.  When  the  train 
arrived  from  Eufaula  it  was  already  crowded  with 
refugees,  besides  300  volunteers  from  the  exempts 
going  to  help  fight  the  Yankees  at  Columbus.  All 
sorts  of  wild  rumors  were  flying,  among  them  one 
that  fighting  had  already  begun  at  Columbus,  and 
that  a  raid  had  been  sent  out  towards  Eufaula.  Ex- 
citement on  the  train  was  intense.  At  Ward's  Sta- 
tion, a  dreary-looking  little  place,  we  picked  up  the 
train  wrecked  yesterday,  with  many  of  the  passengers 
still  on  board.  They  had  spent  the  night  there  in  the 
cars,  having  nowhere  else  to  go.  Beyond  Ward's, 
the  failure  of  this  train  to  appear  had  given  color  to 
all  sorts  of  wild  rumors  about  the  advance  of  the 
Yankees  into  South-West  Georgia.  The  excitement 
was  intense  all  along  the  route.  At  every  little  station 
crowds  were  gathered  to  hear  the  news,  and  at  many 
places  we  found  a  report  had  gone  out  that  both  our 
train  and  yesterday's  had  been  captured.  The  excite- 
ment increased  as  we  approached  Fort  Valley,  where 
the  Muscogee  road  (from  Columbus)  joins  the  South- 
western, and  many  of  the  passengers  predicted  that 
we  should  be  captured  there.  At  the  next  station  be- 
low Fort  Valley,  our  fears  regarding  the  fate  of  Co- 
lumbus were  confirmed  by  a  soldier  on  the  platform, 
who  shouted  out  as  the  train  slowed  down,  "  Columbus 


146     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

gone  up  the  spout !  "  Nobody  was  surprised,  and  all 
were  eager  to  hear  particulars.  I  was  glad  to  learn 
that  our  poor  little  handful  of  Confederates  had  made 
a  brave  fight  before  surrendering.  The  city  was  not 
given  up  till  nine  last  night,  when  the  Yanks  slipped 
over  the  railroad  bridge  and  got  in  before  our  men, 
who  were  defending  the  other  bridge,  knew  anything 
about  it.  We  had  not  enough  to  watch  both  bridges, 
and  it  seemed  more  likely  the  attack  would  be  made 
by  the  dirt  road.  Then  everybody  blundered  around 
in  the  dark,  fighting  pretty  much  at  random.  If  a 
man  met  some  one  he  did  not  know,  he  asked  whether 
he  was  a  Yank  or  a  Reb,  and  if  the  answer  did  not 
suit  his  views  he  fired.  At  last  everybody  became 
afraid  to  tell  who  or  what  they  were.  It  was  thought 
that  our  forces  had  retired  towards  Opelika.  When 
we  reached  Fort  Valley  the  excitement  was  at  fever 
heat.  Train  upon  train  of  cars  was  there,  all  the 
rolling  stock  of  the  Muscogee  Road  having  been  run 
out  of  Columbus  to  keep  it  from  being  captured,  and 
the  cars  were  filled  with  refugees  and  their  goods.  It 
was  pitiful  to  see  them,  especially  the  poor  little  chil- 
dren, driven  from  their  homes  by  the  frozen-hearted 
Northern  Vandals,  but  they  were  all  brave  and  cheer- 
ful, laughing  good-naturedly  instead  of  grumbling 
over  their  hardships.  People  have  gotten  so  used  to 
these  sort  of  things  that  they  have  learned  to  bear 
them  with  philosophy.  Soldiers  who  had  made  their 
escape   after   the   fight,    without   surrendering,    were 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  147 

camped  about  everywhere,  looking  tired  and  hungry, 
and  more  disheartened  than  the  women  and  children. 
Poor  fellows,  they  have  seen  the  terrors  of  war  nearer 
at  hand  than  we.  As  our  train  drew  up  at  the  depot, 
I  caught  sight  of  Fred  in  the  crowd.  He  had  been 
in  the  fight  at  Columbus,  and  I  concluded  was  now  on 
his  way  to  Cuthbert  to  find  Metta  and  me.  I  called 
to  let  him  know  that  we  were  on  board,  but  he  did  not 
hear  me,  and  before  I  could  make  my  way  to  the 
opposite  window,  the  train  moved  on  a  few  hundred 
yards  and  he  was  lost  in  the  crowd.  I  was  greatly 
disturbed,  for  it  was  said  that  the  train  we  were  on 
was  the  last  that  would  be  run  over  the  South-Western 
Road.  While  I  was  in  this  dilemma,  Col.  Magruder 
and  Marsh  Fouche  came  out  of  the  crowd  and  hailed 
me.  They  said  they  were  on  furlough  and  trying  to 
make  their  way  to  Uncle  Fouche's  plantation  in  Ap- 
pling County.  I  told  them  my  troubles,  and  they  went 
to  hunt  up  Fred  for  me,  but  must  have  gotten  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  crowd  themselves,  for  I  never  saw 
either  of  them  again.  At  last  I  sent  for  the  con- 
ductor to  unlock  the  door  so  that  I  could  get  out  of 
the  car  and  begin  a  search  on  my  own  account.  Just 
as  I  had  stepped  out  on  the  platform  Fred  himself 
came  pushing  through  the  crowd  and  sprang  up  beside 
me.  He  said  that  some  of  the  passengers  who  had 
come  with  us  from  Cuthbert,  happened  to  hear  him 
say  that  he  was  going  to  South-West  Georgia  to  get 
his  sisters,  and  told  him  that  we  were  there. 


148      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

From  Fort  Valley  we  traveled  without  interruption 
to  Macon,  where  the  excitement  is  at  its  climax.  The 
Yankees  are  expected  here  at  any  moment,  from  both 
north  and  south,  having  divided  their  forces  at  Tuske- 
gee,  it  is  said,  and  sent  one  column  by  way.  of  Union 
Springs  and  Columbus,  and  another  through  Opelika 
and  West  Point.  I  saw  some  poor  little  fortifications 
thrown  up  along  the  line  of  the  South-Western,  with 
a  handful  of  men  guarding  them,  and  that  is  the  only 
preparation  for  defense  I  have  seen.  We  are  told 
that  the  city  is  to  be  defended,  but  if  that  is  so,  the 
Lord  only  knows  where  the  men  are  to  come  from. 
The  general  opinion  seems  to  be  that  it  is  to  be  evacu- 
ated, and  every  preparation  seems  to  be  going  forward 
to  that  end.  All  the  horses  that  could  be  found  have 
been  pressed  for  the  removal  of  government  stores, 
and  we  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  our  baggage 
from  the  depot  to  the  hotel.  Mr.  Legriel's  nephew, 
Robert  Scott,  was  at  the  train  to  take  us  out  to  Lily's, 
but  Fred  thought  it  best  for  us  to  stay  at  the  hotel,  as 
he  wants  to  leave  in  the  morning  by  the  first  train  over 
the  Macon  &  Western.  Mulberry  Street,  in  front  of 
the  Lanier  House,  is  filled  with  officers  and  men  rush- 
ing to  and  fro,  and  everything  and  everybody  seems  to 
be  in  the  wildest  excitement.  ...  In  the  hotel  par- 
lor, when  I  came  from  Lily's,  whom  should  I  find  but 
Mr.  Adams,  our  little  Yankee  preacher !  I  used  to  like 
him,  but  now  I  hate  to  look  at  him  just  because  he  is  a 
Yankee.     What  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  makes  them  so 


OF   A   GEORGIA   GIRL  149 

different  from  us,  even  when  they  mean  to  be  good 
Southerners !  You  can't  even  make  one  of  them  look 
like  us,  not  if  you  were  to  dress  him  up  in  a  full  suit 
of  Georgia  jeans.  I  used  to  have  some  Christian 
feeling  towards  Yankees,  but  now  that  they  have  in- 
vaded our  country  and  killed  so  many  of  our  men  and 
desecrated  so  many  homes,  I  can't  believe  that  when 
Christ  said  "  Love  your  enemies,"  he  meant  Yankees. 
Of  course  I  don't  want  their  souls  to  be  lost,  for  that 
would  be  wicked,  but  as  they  are  not  being  punished 
in  this  world,  I  don't  see  how  else  they  are  going  to 
get  their  deserts. 

April  18,  Tuesday. — The  first  train  on  the  Georgia 
R.R.,  from  Atlanta  to  Augusta,  was  scheduled  to  run 
through  to-day,  and  we  started  off  on  the  Macon  & 
Western  so  as  to  reach  Atlanta  in  time  to  take  the 
next  one  down,  to-morrow.  There  was  such  a  crowd 
waiting  at  the  depot  that  we  could  hardly  push  our 
way  through,  and  when  the  ladies'  car  was  opened 
there  was  such  a  rush  that  we  considered  ourselves 
lucky  to  get  in  at  all.  Jenny  and  Jule  were  with  us, 
and  we  were  fortunate  enough  to  get  seats  together. 
Fred  and  Mr.  Toombs  had  great  difficulty  in  getting 
our  trunks  aboard,  and  were  obliged  to  leave  us  to 
look  out  for  ourselves,  while  they  attended  to  the  bag- 
gage. Many  people  had  to  leave  theirs  behind,  and 
some  decided  to  stay  with  their  trunks;  they  contained 
all  that  some  poor  refugees  had  left  them.  The  trains 
that  went  out  this  morning  were  supposed  to  be  the 


150     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

last  that  would  leave  the  city,  as  the  Yankees  were 
expected  before  night,  and  many  predicted  that  we 
would  be  captured.  There  was  a  terrible  rush  on  all 
the  outgoing  trains.  Ours  had  on  board  a  quantity  of 
government  specie  and  the  assets  of  four  banks,  be- 
sides private  property,  aggregating  all  together,  it  was 
said,  more  than  seventeen  million  dollars — and  there 
were  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  1,000  pas- 
sengers. People  who  could  not  get  inside  were  hang- 
ing on  wherever  they  could  find  a  sticking  place;  the 
aisles  and  platforms  down  to  the  last  step  were  full 
of  people  clinging  on  like  bees  swarming  round  the 
doors  of  a  hive.  It  took  two  engines  to  pull  us  up  the 
heavy  grade  around  Vineville,  and  we  were  more  than 
an  hour  behind  time,  in  starting,  at  that.  Meanwhile, 
all  sorts  of  rumors  were  flying.  One  had  it  that  the 
road  was  cut  at  Jonesborough,  then,  at  Barnesville, 
and  finally  that  a  large  force  of  the  enemy  was  at 
Thomaston  advancing  toward  the  road  with  a  view 
to  capturing  our  train.  I  never  saw  such  wild  excite- 
ment in  my  life.  Many  people  left  the  cars  at  the  last 
moment  before  we  steamed  out,  preferring  to  be 
caught  in  Macon  rather  than  captured  on  the  road,  but 
their  places  were  rapidly  filled  by  more  adventurous 
spirits.  A  party  of  refugees  from  Columbus  were 
seated  near  us,  and  they  seemed  nearly  crazed  with 
excitement.  Mary  Eliza  Rutherford,  who  was  al- 
ways a  great  scatter-brain  when  I  knew  her  at  school, 
was  among  them,  and  she  jumped  up  on  the  seat,  tore 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  151 

down  her  back  hair  and  went  off  into  regular  hysterics 
at  the  idea  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Yankees. 
Such  antics  would  have  been  natural  enough  in  the 
beginning  of  the  war,  when  we  were  new  to  these  ex- 
periences, but  now  that  we  are  all  old  soldiers,  and 
used  to  raids  and  vicissitudes,  people  ought  to  know 
how  to  face  them  quietly.  Of  course  it  would  have 
been  dreadful  to  be  captured  and  have  your  baggage 
rifled  and  lose  all  your  clothes,  but  if  the  Yankees 
had  actually  caught  us,  I  don't  think  I  would  have 
gone  crazy  over  it.  So  many  sensational  reports  kept 
coming  in  that  I  finally  lost  patience  and  felt  like  say- 
ing something  cross  to  everybody  that  brought  me  a 
fresh  bit  of  news.  Before  we  left  Macon,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Shepherd  gave  me  the  worst  fright  I  almost  ever 
had,  by  telling  me  that  my  trunk  and  Jenny  Toombs's 
had  been  thrown  out  of  the  baggage  car  and  were 
lying  on  the  track,  but  this  proved  to  be  a  false  alarm, 
like  so  many  others.  Then  somebody  came  in  and 
reported  that  the  superintendent  of  the  road  had  a 
dispatch  in  his  hand  at  that  moment,  stating  that  the 
enemy  was  already  in  Barnesville.  The  statement 
seemed  so  authoritative  that  Fred  went  to  Gen. 
Mackall  himself,  and  was  advised  by  him  to  continue 
his  journey,  as  no  official  notice  had  been  received  of 
the  cutting  of  the  road.  At  last,  to  the  great  relief  of 
us  all,  the  train  steamed  out  of  Macon  and  traveled 
along  in  peace  till  it  reached  Goggins's  Station,  four 
miles  from  Barnesville,  where  it  was  stopped  by  some 


152      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

country  people  who  said  that  the  down  train  from 
Atlanta  had  been  captured  and  the  Yankees  were  just 
five  miles  beyond  Barnesville  waiting  for  us.  A  coun- 
cil was  held  by  the  railroad  officials  and  some  of  the 
army  officers  on  board,  at  which  it  was  decided  that 
the  freight  we  were  carrying  was  too  valuable  to  be 
risked,  although  the  news  was  not  very  reliable,  having 
been  brought  in  by  two  schoolboys.  There  was  dan- 
ger also,  it  was  suggested,  that  a  raiding  party  might 
mistake  such  a  very  long  and  crowded  train,  where 
the  men  were  nearly  all  forced  out  on  the  platforms, 
for  a  movement  of  troops  and  fire  into  us.  I  confess 
to  being  pretty  badly  scared  at  this  possibility,  but  the 
women  on  board  seemed  to  have  worked  off  their  ex- 
citement by  this  time,  and  we  all  kept  quiet  and  be- 
haved ourselves  very  creditably.  While  the  council 
was  still  in  session,  fresh  reports  came  in  confirming 
those  already  brought,  and  we  put  back  to  Macon, 
without  standing  on  the  order  of  our  going.  Helen 
Swift,  a  friend  of  the  Toombses,  who  had  joined  us 
at  Macon,  lives  only  fifteen  miles  from  the  place  where 
we  turned  back.  She  was  bitterly  disappointed,  and 
I  don't  blame  her  for  nearly  crying  her  eyes  out.  Mr. 
Adams  undertook  to  administer  spiritual  consolation, 
but  I  don't  think  Helen  was  very  spiritually-minded 
towards  Yankees  just  at  that  time. 

Excited  crowds  were  waiting  at  all  the  stations  as 
we  went  back,  and  the  news  we  brought  increased  the 
ferment  tenfold.     The  general  impression  seems  to  be 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  153 

that  the  Yanks  are  advancing  upon  Macon  in  three 
columns,  and  that  they  will  reach  the  city  by  to- 
morrow or  next  day,  at  latest.  We  came  back  to  the 
Lanier  House,  and  Fred  hopes  to  get  us  out  by  way 
of  Milledgeville,  before  they  arrive.  When  our  train 
got  back  to  Macon,  the  men  on  board  had  gradually 
dropped  off  on  the  way,  so  that  I  don't  suppose  there 
were  more  than  200  or  300  remaining  of  all  that  had 
gone  out  in  the  morning.  The  demoralization  is  com- 
plete. We  are  whipped,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it. 
Everybody  feels  it,  and  there  is  no  use  for  the  men 
to  try  to  fight  any  longer,  though  none  of  us  like  to 
say  so. 

Just  before  we  reached  Macon,  the  down  train, 
which  had  been  reported  captured,  overtook  us  at  a 
siding,  with  the  tantalizing  news  that  we  might  have 
got  through  to  Atlanta  if  we  had  gone  straight  on. 
The  Yankees  were  twelve  miles  off  at  the  time  of  its 
reported  capture,  and  cut  the  road  soon  after  it  passed. 
There  was  an  immense  crowd  at  the  depot  on  our 
return,  and  when  I  saw  what  a  wild  commotion  the 
approach  of  the  Yankees  created,  I  lost  all  hope  and 
gave  up  our  cause  as  doomed.  We  made  a  brave  fight 
but  the  odds  against  us  were  too  great.  The  spell  of 
invincibility  has  left  us  and  gone  over  to  the  heavy 
battalions  of  the  enemy.  As  I  drove  along  from  the 
station  to  the  hotel,  I  could  see  that  preparations  were 
being  made  to  evacuate  the  city.     Government  stores 

were  piled  up  in  the  streets  and  all  the  horses  and 
11 


154      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

wagons  that  could  be  pressed  into  service  were  being 
hastily  loaded  in  the  effort  to  remove  them.  The  rush 
of  men  had  disappeared  from  Mulberry  St.  No 
more  gay  uniforms,  no  more  prancing  horses,  but  only 
a  few  ragged  foot  soldiers  with  wallets  and  knapsacks 
on,  ready  to  march — Heaven  knows  where.  Gen. 
Elzey  and  staff  left  early  in  the  morning  to  take  up 
their  new  quarters  either  in  Augusta  or  Washington, 
and  if  we  had  only  known  it,  we  might  have  gone  out 
with  them.  I  took  a  walk  on  the  streets  while  waiting 
to  get  my  room  at  the  hotel,  and  found  everything  in 
the  wildest  confusion.  The  houses  were  closed,  and 
doleful  little  groups  were  clustered  about  the  street 
corners  discussing  the  situation.  All  the  intoxicating 
liquors  that  could  be  found  in  the  stores,  warehouses, 
and  barrooms,  had  been  seized  by  the  authorities  and 
emptied  on  the  ground.  In  some  places  the  streets 
smelt  like  a  distillery,  and  I  saw  men,  boys,  and 
negroes  down  on  their  knees  lapping  it  up  from  the 
gutter  like  dogs.  Little  children  were  staggering 
about  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxication.  I  think  there 
can  be  no  more  dreary  spectacle  in  the  world  than  a 
city  on  the  eve  of  evacuation,  unless  it  is  one  that  has 
already  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  I  re- 
turned to  the  hotel  with  a  heavy  heart,  for  while  out 
I  heard  fresh  rumors  of  Lee's  surrender.  No  one 
seems  to  doubt  it,  and  everybody  feels  ready  to  give 
up  hope.  "  It  is  useless  to  struggle  longer,"  seems  to 
be  the  common  cry,  and  the  poor  wounded  men  go 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  155 

hobbling  about  the  streets  with  despair  on  their  faces. 
There  is  a  new  pathos  in  a  crutch  or  an  empty  sleeve, 
now,  that  we  know  it  was  all  for  nothing. 

April  19,  Wednesday.  Milledgeville. — They  began 
to  evacuate  the  city  [Macon]  at  dusk  yesterday,  and 
all  through  the  night  we  could  hear  the  tramp  of  men 
and  horses,  mingled  with  the  rattle  of  artillery  and 
baggage  wagons.  Mr.  Toombs  was  very  averse  to 
spending  the  night  in  Macon,  and  we  were  all  anxious 
to  push  ahead  to  the  end  of  our  journey,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  get  a  conveyance  of  any  sort.  Sam 
Hardeman,  Jule's  devoted,  spent  the  evening  with  us, 
and  as  they  are  both  very  musical,  we  tried  to  keep  up 
our  spirits  by  singing  some  of  the  favorite  war  songs, 
but  they  seemed  more  like  dirges  now,  and  we  gave  up 
and  went  to  our  rooms.  We  got  to  bed  early,  know- 
ing we  must  be  at  the  depot  betimes  in  the  morning,  to 
secure  seats  on  the  train  for  Milledgeville,  and  had 
just  thrown  ourselves  on  the  bed,  when  Jenny  and 
Jule  came  running  in,  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  de- 
claring that  a  man  and  his  wife  were  quarreling  in 
the  room  on  one  side  of  them,  and  a  party  of  drunken 
men  on  the  other,  trying  to  open  their  door.  They 
can  beat  any  girls  I  know  stirring  up  imaginary  scare- 
crows, from  a  ghost  to  a  burglar,  and  we  tried  to  laugh 
away  their  foolish  fears,  but  as  we  failed  to  pacify 
them  we  gave  up  our  room  to  them  and  took  theirs. 
We  heard  nothing  more  of  either  drunken  men  or 
domestic  broils,  and  were  so  tired  that  we  slept  like 


156      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

logs  till  some  time  way  in  the  night,  we  were  wakened 
by  a  terrific  thunder  storm.  A  bolt  struck  one  of  the 
lightning  rods  of  the  hotel  and  made  such  a  fearful 
crash  that  many  of  the  guests,  suddenly  roused  from 
their  sleep,  took  it  for  a  Yankee  shell,  and  for  a  time 
the  wildest  excitement  prevailed.  Capt.  Thomas  told 
me  afterwards  that  he  never  jumped  so  far  in  his  life 
as -when  roused  by  that  thunderbolt,  which,  in  his  first 
bewilderment,  he  mistook  for  the  explosion  of  a  shell. 
He  didn't  want  to  be  killed  in  his  bed  now,  he  said, 
after  going  through  the  whole  four  years  of  the  war. 
I  had  been  awake  some  time,  listening  to  the  rain,  when 
the  shock  came,  and  knew  what  it  was,  but  I  am  just 
as  much  afraid  of  thunder  and  lightning  as  of  Yankee 
bombs,  and  when  that  bolt  struck,  Mett  and  I  flew 
across  the  corridor  in  our  nightgowns  to  find  the 
Toombs  girls.  We  had  some  funny  experiences,  for 
it  seems  to  me  that  everybody  at  the  hotel  was  running 
round  promiscuously  in  the  corridors,  but  we  were  all 
too  much  excited  to  notice  each  other's  dress — or 
rather,  undress.  Once,  in  my  haste,  I  knocked  at  the 
wrong  door,  and  it  was  some  time  before  we  could 
find  the  girls.  Jenny  and  Jule  had  made  for  their 
father's  room  at  the  first  alarm,  and  thinking  they  had 
found  it,  Jenny  bolted  in  and  called  to  a  man  in  bed 
whom  she  took  for  her  father.  The  man  was  either 
too  drunk  or  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  wake,  and 
kept  his  eyes  shut  till  Jenny  made  her  escape.  When 
we  got  back  to  their  room,  we  all  four  piled  into  bed 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  157 

together  and  stayed  there  till  morning,  but  none  of 
us  slept  much. 

We  were  up  almost  by  daylight,  and  even  then 
found  others  starting  to  the  depot  ahead  of  us.  There 
was  great  difficulty  in  getting  transportation  for  bag- 
gage, and  we  had  to  foot  it  ourselves.  The  Yankees 
were  expected  every  minute,  and  as  this  was  our  very 
last  chance  to  escape,  there  was  a  great  rush  to  get  on 
board  the  train.  Brother  Troup  had  not  been  able  to 
carry  out  his  order  to  join  Gen.  Wofford,  and  sent  our 
trunks  to  the  station  on  a  government  wagon,  and 
Gen.  Cobb  gave  Mr.  Toombs  transportation  for  it  on 
one  of  his  cars,  as  far  as  Milledgeville.  We  gratified 
a  pretty  girl  from  Montgomery,  and  her  escort,  by 
taking  their  baggage  to  the  station  with  ours.  We 
saw  one  overloaded  team  take  fright  at  a  car  whistle 
and  run  away,  scattering  the  trunks  piled  up  on  it,  and 
bursting  some  of  them  open — a  serious  misfortune  in 
these  times,  when  none  of  us  have  clothes  to  spare. 
We  did  not  wait  at  the  hotel  for  breakfast,  but  started 
off"  on  foot  with  cold  biscuits  in  our  hands,  which  were 
all  we  had  to  eat.  We  reached  the  depot  at  least  an 
hour  before  the  schedule  time.  Three  long  trains, 
heavily  laden,  went  down  the  South-Western,  and 
Brother  Troup  got  aboard  one  of  them.  I  am  glad  he 
will  be  with  sister  in  these  trying  times.  There  were 
enough  people  and  baggage  still  at  the  depot  to  load  a 
dozen  trains,  and  the  people  scrambled  for  places  next 
the  track.     Sidney  Lanier,  a  friend  of  Fred's,  was 


158      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

there,  trying  to  get  aboard  one  of  the  outgoing  trains. 
Fred  introduced  him,  but  we  soon  lost  each  other  in 
the  crowd.  The  poor  fellow  is  just  up  from  a  spell 
of  typhoid  fever,  and  looked  as  thin  and  white  as  a 
ghost.  He  said  Harry  Day  was  left  behind  sick,  in 
Macon.  When  the  Central  train  backed  up,  there  was 
such  a  rush  to  get  aboard  that  I  thought  we  would 
have  the  life  squeezed  out  of  us.  I  saw  one  man 
knock  a  woman  down  and  run  right  over  her.  I  hope 
the  Yankees  will  catch  him.  Fred  and  Mr.  Toombs 
had  to  give  their  whole  attention  to  the  baggage,  but 
we  girls  are  all  good  travelers,  and  having  legs  of  our 
own,  which  our  trunks  had  not,  we  pushed  our  way 
successfully  through  the  crowd.  I  was  assisted  by  Mr. 
Duval,  one  of  Cousin  Boiling's  patients  whom  I  met 
in  Cuthbert,  and  the  four  of  us  were  comfortably 
seated.  Nearly  all  our  companions  on  yesterday's 
wild-goose  chase  towards  Atlanta  were  aboard,  and 
we  also  found  Mrs.  Walthall,  going  to  Washington  to 
visit  Gen.  Toombs's  family,  and  Mrs.  Paul  Hammond, 
on  her  way  to  Augusta.  Many  people  had  to  leave 
their  baggage  behind,  and  others  still  were  not  able  to 
find  even  standing  room  for  themselves.  Gov.  Brown 
was  on  board,  and  Mr.  Toombs  introduced  him  to  me. 
He  looked  at  me  with  a  half-embarrassed  expression 
and  poked  out  his  hand  with  no  pretense  at  cordiality. 
Whether  this  was  due  to  resentment  at  father's  politi- 
cal stand,  or  merely  to  preoccupation  about  his  own 
rather  precarious  affairs,  I  could  not  tell.     He  is  a 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  159 

regular  Barebones  in  appearance,  thin,  wiry,  angular, 
with  a  sallow  complexion  and  iron-gray  hair.  His 
face  wears  an  expression  of  self-assertion  rather  than 
obstinacy  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking  how  well  he 
would  have  fitted  in  with  Cromwell's  Ironsides.  He 
had  on  a  rusty,  short-tailed  black  alpaca  coat  that  had 
a  decidedly  home-made  set.  He  looked  "  Joe  Brown," 
every  inch  of  him,  and  if  I  had  met  him  in  Jericho,  I 
would  have  said,  "  There  goes  Joe  Brown."  But  when 
we  reached  Milledgeville,  he  heaped  coals  of  fire  on 
my  head  by  offering  us  his  carriage  to  drive  to  the 
hotel  in.  Every  horse,  mule,  and  vehicle  in  the  place 
had  been  "  pressed "  for  removing  the  government 
stores  that  had  been  shipped  from  Macon;  there  was 
not  even  an  ox-cart  or  a  negro  with  a  wheel-barrow 
to  be  hired,  and  the  hotel  full  a  mile  away,  and  the 
sun  blazing  hot.  Still,  I  declined  at  first,  for  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  accept  a  favor  from  a  man 
whose  political  course  I  respected  so  little,  but  the 
Toombses  piled  in  and  the  governor  himself  courte- 
ously insisted  that  the  rest  of  us  should  follow,  or  he 
would  send  the  carriage  back,  he  said,  if  it  was  too 
crowded.  Mett  and  I  then  got  in,  and  Mrs.  Walthall 
climbed  in  after  us.  I  felt  rather  ashamed  of  myself 
for  all  the  mean  things  I  have  said  about  the  old  gov- 
ernor, but  I  couldn't  help  laughing  at  Mrs.  Walthall, 
who  overwhelmed  him  with  gracious  speeches,  and 
then,  the  minute  his  back  was  turned,  shook  her  fist 
at  him  out  of  the  window,  and  added  in  an  undertone : 


160      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

"  But  I  would  help  to  hang  you  to-morrow,  you  old 
rascal !  "  This  is  politics,  I  suppose,  with  the  ^  left 
off.* 

At  the  hotel  we  found  all  our  traveling  companions, 
who  had  come  out  from  Macon,  with  a  number  of 
other  fugitives,  and  while  waiting  for  Fred  and  Mr. 
Toombs  to  hunt  up  conveyances,  we  amused  our- 
selves getting  acquainted  and  exchanging  experiences 
with  our  fellow  sufferers.  Among  the  ones  I  liked 
best,  were  Mrs.  Young  and  Dr.  Morrow,  from  Mari- 
etta. Mrs.  Walthall  introduced  us  to  her  escort,  Col. 
Lockett,  an  old  bachelor,  but  as  foolish  about  the  girls 
as  if  he  was  a  widower.  Our  pretty  girl  from  Mont- 
gomery was  there,  too,  but  I  did  not  learn  her  name, 
and  a  poor  little  Mrs.  Smith  from  somewhere,  with  a 
sick,  puny  baby  that  everybody  felt  sorry  for.  Mrs. 
Howell  and  Mrs.  Wardlaw,  mother  and  sister  of  Mrs. 
Jefferson  Davis,  were  also  among  the  unfortunates 
stranded  at  that  awful  Milledgeville  Hotel.  Mrs. 
Howell  was  a  stout  old  lady  with  a  handsome,  but 
rather  determined  face,  and  pretty,  old-fashioned  gray 
curls  falling  behind  her  ears.     Col.  Lockett  innocently 


*  Governor  Brown's  obstructive  policy  towards  the  end  of  the 
war,  and  his  decided  stand  in  opposition  to  President  Davis,  ren- 
dered him  very  obnoxious  at  this  time  to  the  friends  of  the  latter, 
and  these  utterances  must  not  be  taken  as  anything  more  than  the 
expression  of  this  political  animosity.  The  uncompromising  de- 
votion of  the  writer's  father,  Judge  Garnett  Andrews,  to  the 
Union,  precluded  anything  like  political  sympathy  or  personal 
intimacy  between  him  and  Georgia's  strenuous  war  governor. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  161 

pointed  her  out  to  me  as  the  housekeeper,  when  he 
saw  me  wandering  about  in  search  of  a  clean  towel, 
but  I  told  him  I  had  been  at  the  Milledgeville  Hotel 
before  and  he  couldn't  make  me  believe  that  anybody 
connected  with  it  could  show  a  pound  of  superfluous 
flesh — a  stroke  of  wisdom  on  my  part  that  saved  me 
from  committing  a  dreadful  faux  pas.  Afterwards, 
when  we  met  in  the  parlor,  she  lost  no  time  in  letting 
us  all  know  that  she  was  the  president's  mother-in- 
law,  and  then  went  on  to  pay  her  compliments  to 
everything  and  everybody  opposed  to  Jeff  Davis, 
Gov.  Brown  coming  in  for  the  lion's  share.  Mrs. 
Wardlaw,  her  daughter,  had  a  good  voice,  and  her 
sweet  singing  helped  to  make  the  time  pass  a  little  less 
tediously,  but  there  her  individuality  seemed  to  end. 
Capt.  Thomas,  a  young  officer  traveling  with  them, 
was  charming;  I  don't  know  how  we  would  have  got 
through  that  "  long,  weary  day  "  without  him. 

After  we  had  waited  a  long  time,  Fred  and  Mr. 
Toombs  came  in  and  reported  that  it  was  impossible 
to  get  a  conveyance  of  any  kind  to  Mayfield.  It  was 
all  they  could  do  to  get  our  baggage  hauled  from  the 
depot  and  we  would  probably  have  to  spend  the  night 
where  we  were.  Every  conveyance  in  town  had  been 
"pressed"  for  removing  government  stores — where? 
Augusta  is  supposed  to  be  the  next  objective  point  of 
the  enemy,  and  Milledgeville  is  directly  on  the  road 
from  there  to  Macon.  The  panic  has  extended  here, 
and  everybody  that  can  get  out  of  the  way  is  preparing 


162      THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

for  flight.  Their  experience  with  Sherman's  army 
last  winter  naturally  doesn't  make  these  people  long 
for  another  visit.  Fred  had  engaged  a  two-horse 
wagon  for  one  thousand  dollars,  but  while  he  was 
having  our  trunks  put  on  it,  a  government  official 
came  up  and  "  pressed  "  it.  As  we  couldn't  help  our- 
selves, we  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation, 
so  we  went  to  our  room  to  get  a  little  rest  and  make 
ourselves  presentable  before  dinner-time.  We  had 
engaged  a  large  room  with  two  beds  so  that  we  girls 
could  all  be  together,  but  when  we  entered,  our  hearts 
sank,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  war-time  fare.  There 
was  no  slop  tub,  wash  basin,  pitcher  nor  towels,  and 
the  walls  on  each  side  of  the  beds  were  black  with 
tobacco  spit.  The  fireplace  was  a  dump  heap  that  was 
enough  to  turn  the  stomach  of  a  pig,  and  over  the 
mantel  some  former  occupant  had  inscribed  this  cau- 
tion: 

"One  bed  has  lice  in  it,  the  other  fleas,  and  both  bugs;  chim- 
ney smokes ;  better  change." 

Prompted  by  curiosity  I  turned  down  the  cover  of 
one  bed,  and  started  such  a  stampede  among  the  bugs 
that  we  all  made  for  the  door  as  fast  as  our  feet  would 
carry  us  and  ordered  another  room,  which,  however, 
did  not  prove  much  better.  Our  next  step  was  to 
make  a  foray  for  water  and  towels.  The  only  water 
supply  we  could  find  was  in  a  big  washtub  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  where  everybody  stopped  to  drink,  those 
who  had  no  cups  stooping  down  and  lapping  it  up  with 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  163 

their  hands,  or  dipping  in  their  heads.  There  was  but 
one  chambermaid  to  the  whole  establishment,  and  she 
was  as  hard  to  catch  as  the  Irishman's  flea.  Both 
Fred  and  Mr.  Toombs  were  off,  hunting  for  con- 
veyances, so  we  had  to  shift  for  ourselves.  We  tried 
to  ring  a  bell  that  hung  in  the  passage,  but  Sherman's 
angels  had  cut  the  cord.  A  young  captain  who  was 
watching  our  maneuvers,  advised  us  to  cry  "  Fire ! " 
as  the  surest  way  of  getting  water  brought.  Just  at 
this  time,  Fred's  boy,  Arch,  came  up  and  we  made 
him  shovel  some  of  the  dirt  out  of  our  room  and  bring 
up  fresh  water  in  a  broken  pitcher  we  found  there. 
After  making  ourselves  as  decent  as  circumstances 
would  permit,  we  went  down  to  the  dining-room. 
There  was  literally  nothing  on  the  table  but  some 
broken  crockery,  the  remains  of  Sherman's  little  tea- 
party,  but  one  of  the  black  waiters  promised  to  get  us 
a  nice  dinner  if  we  would  "  jest  have  de  patience  to 
deviate  back  to  de  parlor  "  and  wait  a  little  while,  till 
he  could  get  it  ready.  He  was  so  polite  and  plausible 
that  we  "  deviated,"  and  after  more  than  half  an  hour, 
went  back  to  the  dining-room,  where  we  exercised  our 
patience  for  another  half-hour,  when,  at  last,  he  came 
bustling  in  with  some  ham  and  eggs  and  raw  corn 
bread.  I  looked  about  on  my  plate  for  a  clean  spot 
on  which  to  deposit  my  share,  and,  finding  none, 
dabbed  it  down  at  random,  and  went  for  it,  dirt  and 
all,  for  I  was  desperately  hungry.  Soon  after  dinner 
Mr.  Toombs  came  in  to  say  that  Gov.  Brown  had 


164      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

provided  him  with  a  conveyance  for  himself  and 
daughters  and  they  were  to  start  at  once.  After  the 
Toombses  left,  Mrs.  Walthall  asked  Mett  and  me  to 
share  her  room,  as  she  was  afraid  to  stay  by  herself, 
and' we,  too,  were  glad  of  a  companion.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  we  went  out  and  saw  the  Georgia  cadets  on 
dress  parade  in  front  of  the  capitol.  Mrs.  Walthall 
and  Col.  Lockett  joined  us  there,  with  several  gentle- 
men that  we  had  met  at  the  hotel,  and  we  had  a  fine 
time.  Among  the  cadets  we  recognized  Milton  Reese, 
Tom  Hill,  and  Davy  Favor,  from  Washington,  and  as 
soon  as  the  drill  was  over,  we  went  into  the  capitol 
with  them  and  saw  the  destruction  the  Yankees  had 
made.  The  building  was  shockingly  defaced,  like 
everything  else  in  Milledgeville.  There  don't  seem  to 
be  a  clean  or  a  whole  thing  left  in  the  town.  The  boys 
told  us  that  the  cadets  are  so  hot  against  the  governor 
for  not  ordering  them  into  active  service  that  they  had 
hung  him  in  effigy  right  there  in  the  capitol  grounds. 
His  son  is  among  them,  and  the  boys  say  the  gov- 
ernor won't  let  them  fight  because  he  is  afraid  Julius 
might  get  hurt.  The  truth  is,  they  ought  all  to  be  at 
home  in  their  trundle  beds,  Julius  with  the  rest,  for 
they  are  nothing  but  children.  When  we  returned  to 
the  hotel,  Fred  met  us  with  the  joyful  news  that  he 
had  found  a  man  with  a  miserable  little  wagon  and 
two  scrubby  mules  hid  out  in  the  woods,  who  had 
agreed  to  take  us  to  Mayfield  for  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars,  provided  Fred  would  get  his  team  exempted 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  165 

from  empressment.  He  (Fred)  went  at  once  to  Col. 
Pickett,  who  granted  the  exemption,  and  we  could  be 
off  as  early  in  the  morning  as  we  chose.  We  spent 
part  of  the  evening  in  the  hotel  parlor,  trying  to  be 
cheerful  by  the  light  of  a  miserable  tallow  dip,  but  soon 
gave  it  up  and  came  away  to  our  room. 

April  20,  Thursday.  Sparta,  Ga. — I  went  to  bed 
about  eleven  last  night,  but  never  slept  a  wink  for  bed- 
bugs and  cockroaches,  to  say  nothing  of  the  diabolical 
noises  in  the  streets.  All  night  long,  as  I  lay  awake, 
I  was  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  men  cursing  and 
swearing  and  singing  rowdy  songs  in  and  around  the 
hotel.  About  two  o'clock,  in  the  midst  of  this  pande- 
monium, a  string  band  began  to  play  under  our  win- 
dow, and  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  never  heard  such 
heavenly  music  in  my  life  as  this  was,  in  contrast  with 
the  vile  noises  I  had  been  listening  to.  About  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  our  wagon  was  at  the  door  and 
we  bade  a  joyous  farewell  to  Milledgeville.  It  was 
only  a  shabby  little  covered  cart,  with  the  bows  so 
short  that  if  we  attempted  to  sit  upright  the  cover 
rested  on  our  heads  and  the  sun  baked  our  brains 
through  it.  Fred  and  Arch  had  to  walk,  the  wretched 
team  being  hardly  able  to  carry  Mett  and  me  and  the 
trunks.  We  traveled  at  the  rate  of  about  two  miles 
an  hour  and  a  cost  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  mile. 
The  day  was  intensely  hot,  and  the  dust  stifling.  I 
tried  to  relieve  the  poor  mules  by  walking  up  some  of 
the  worst  hills,  but  the  blazing  sun  got  the  better  of 


166      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

my  humanity  and  I  crawled  into  the  wagon  again.  We 
crossed  the  Oconee  on  a  pontoon  bridge,  where  the  fat 
old  ferryman  now  acts  as  toll-collector.  About  a 
mile  beyond  the  river  we  turned  off  and  traveled  to 
Sparta  by  a  different  road  from  the  one  we  had  fol- 
lowed last  winter.  It  was  longer,  but  better  than  the 
other,  not  being  so  much  traveled,  and  we  hoped  to 
get  rid  of  some  of  the  dust;  but  in  this  we  were  dis- 
appointed, for  we  were  mixed  up  all  day  in  an  endless 
succession  of  wagon  trains,  soldiers,  and  refugees, 
that  made  us  wonder  who  there  was  to  go  by  the  other 
road.  After  the  first  few  miles  we  were  so  tired  that 
we  took  off  our  hats  and  lay  down  in  the  wagon  to 
take  a  nap.  When  we  waked  we  found  that  both  hats 
and  a  basket  containing  all  our  toilet  articles,  had 
jolted  out  and  been  lost.  So  many  people  had  passed 
us  that  Fred  said  it  was  no  use  to  try  to  get  them 
back,  but  I  made  Arch  take  one  of  the  mules  out  of 
the  wagon  and  go  back  to  look  for  them,  and,  as  much 
to  my  surprise  as  delight,  he  recovered  the  basket.  I 
was  so  glad  to  see  it  that  I  forgot  to  grieve  over  the 
hats.  Besides  my  brush  and  comb  and  tooth-brush,  it 
contained  all  the  leaves  of  my  journal  that  I  have 
written  since  leaving  home  last  winter,  which  I  had 
torn  out  of  the  book  on  the  stampede  from  Macon, 
fearing  my  trunk  might  be  lost.  What  a  mess  there 
would  be  if  it  had  been  found  by  some  of  the  people 
I  have  been  writing  about !  When  I  once  got  it  back 
I  hardly  took  my  hands  off  it  again  all  day.     At  noon 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  167 

we  dined  on  a  dirty  biscuit  apiece  that  we  had  brought 
from  Milledgeville,  for  we  could  buy  nothing  to  eat 
along  the  road.  The  country  seems  to  have  pretty 
well  recovered  from  the  effects  of  Sherman's  march, 
so  far  as  appearances  go;  the  fields  are  tilled  and 
crops  growing,  but  people  are  still  short  of  provisions, 
and  nobody  wants  to  take  Confederate  money.  The 
rumors  about  Lee's  surrender,  together  with  the  pan- 
icky state  of  affairs  at  home,  have  sent  our  depreciated 
currency  rolling  down  hill  with  accelerated  velocity. 
Between  six  and  seven  in  the  evening  we  reached 
Sparta,  and  found  one  hotel  closed  and  the  other  full 
of  smallpox.  We  didn't  like  to  impose  on  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  Simpsons  again,  and  Col.  Lockett,  who 
had  secured  lodging  for  Mrs.  Walthall  at  a  private 
house,  advised  us  to  go  on  to  Culver's,  where  we  had 
stopped  to  change  horses  last  winter,  but  our  sorry 
little  team  was  too  broken  down  to  carry  us  any 
farther.  While  we  were  standing  in  the  street  dis- 
cussing what  had  best  be  done,  a  nice-looking  old  gen- 
tleman called  Fred  aside,  and  insisted  that  we  should 
go  to  his  house.  He  had  heard  Col.  Lockett  call  us  by 
name,  he  said,  and  being  a  great  friend  and  admirer 
of  father's,  declared  that  Judge  Andrews's  children 
should  never  want  for  a  lodging  as  long  as  he  had  a 
roof  over  his  head.  He  gave  his  name  as  Harris, 
and  said  there  was  not  a  family  in  Sparta  but  would 
be  proud  to  entertain  us  if  they  knew  who  we  were,  so 
great  was  their  love  and  respect  for  our  father.     It 


168      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

made  me  feel  good  to  hear  that,  for  his  being  such  a 
strong  Union  man  has  made  father  unpopular  in  some  ! 
parts  of  the  State.  I  hate  the  old  Union  myself,  but 
I  love  father,  and  it  makes  me  furious  for  anybody 
to  say  anything  against  him.  It  would  seem  as  if  a 
good  many  people  about  here  quietly  shared  his  opin- 
ions, or  at  any  rate,  respected  them,  for  Mr.  Soularde 
and  several  others  came  up  as  soon  as  they  learned 
our  name,  and  invited  us  to  their  houses,  and  said  it 
would  always  be  a  pleasure  to  them  to  entertain  any 
of  Judge  Andrews's  family. 

We  were  so  tired  of  being  pounded  and  jolted  in 
our  dusty  little  cart  that  we  preferred  walking  to  Mr. 
Harris's,  in  spite  of  the  disreputable  appearance  we 
made,  hatless  and  gloveless  and  dirty  as  we  were.  We 
met  the  Simpson  girls  on  the  way,  with  Jenny  and 
Jule,  and  they  invited  us  to  go  home  with  them,  but 
Mr.  Harris  had  the  first  claim,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
had  taken  a  liking  to  him  before  I  had  known  him  ten 
minutes,  and  would  not,  on  any  account,  have  missed 
the  pleasure  of  a  nearer  acquaintance.  When  we 
reached  his  home  my  anticipations  were  more  than 
realized.  It  was  a  large  white  house  in  the  midst  of 
a  beautiful  garden,  where  roses  of  all  sorts  were  run- 
ning riot,  filling  the  air  with  fragrance  and  the  earth 
with  beauty.  On  the  colonnade  were  a  number  of 
guests  whom  the  hospitality  of  our  host  had  brought 
together,  and  among  them  we  were  delighted  to  meet 
again  our  fellow  travelers,  Mrs.  Young  and  Dr.  Mor- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  169 

row.  Mrs.  Harris  met  us  with  such  a  warm,  motherly 
welcome  that  I  felt  like  throwing  myself  on  her  breast, 
but  remembering  how  dirty  and  draggled  out  I  was,  I 
practiced  the  Golden  Rule,  and  did  as  I  would  be  done 
by.  We  were  shown  at  once  to  a  beautiful,  clean 
room,  with  plenty  of  water  and  towels,  and  oh !  the 
luxury  of  a  good  bath !  But  when  I  went  to  get  out 
some  clean  clothes,  I  found  that  among  other  things,  I 
had  lost  my  keys  and  could  not  get  into  my  trunk.  I 
borrowed  what  I  could  from  Metta,  but  her  things 
don't  fit  me,  and  I  made  a  comical  appearance.  I  was 
too  hungry  to  care,  however,  after  starving  since 
Monday,  and  such  a  supper  as  we  had  was  enough  to 
make  one  forget  all  the  ills  of  life.  Delicious  fresh 
milk  and  clabber,  sweet  yellow  butter,  with  crisp 
beaten  biscuits  to  go  with  it,  smoking  hot  waffles,  and 
corn  batter  cakes  brown  as  a  nut  and  crisped  round 
the  edges  till  they  looked  as  if  bordered  with  lace.  It 
was  a  feast  for  hungry  souls  to  remember.  After 
supper  we  went  into  the  parlor  and  had  music.  We 
tried  to  sing  some  of  our  old  rebel  songs,  but  the  words 
stuck  in  our  throats.  Nobody  could  sing,  and  then 
Clara  Harris  played  "  Dixie,"  but  it  sounded  like  a 
dirge. 

The  house  was  so  full  that  Mrs.  Harris  was  obliged 
to  crowd  us  a  little,  and  Mrs.  Morrow  shared  our 
room  with  Mett  and  me.  We  had  a  funny  time  talk- 
ing over  our  experiences.     She  says  that  the  charming 

captain  fell  dead  in  love  with  me  at  Milledgeville,  and 
12 


i;o     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

was  so  struck  with  my  appearance  that  he  couldn't 
rest  till  he  found  out  my  name.  He  asked  her  all 
sorts  of  questions  about  me,  and  I  almost  laughed  my- 
self hoarse  at  the  extravagant  things  she  told  him. 
And  she  didn't  know  me,  either,  any  better  than  he 
did,  but  that  only  made  it  the  more  amusing. 

April  21,  Friday.  Haywood. — That  delicious  clean 
bed  in  Sparta!  I  never  had  a  sweeter  sleep  in  my 
life  than  the  few  hours  I  spent  there.  Fred  said  we 
must  be  off  at  daylight  so  as  to  reach  Mayfield  in  time 
for  the  train,  with  our  sorry  team,  so  we  bid  our  hosts 
good-by  before  going  to  bed  in  order  not  to  rouse 
them  at  such  a  heathenish  hour.  But  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  whole  town  was  roused  by 
a  courier  who  came  in  with  news  that  the  Yankees 
were  in  Putnam  County,  only  twelve  miles  off.  It  is 
absurd  for  people  to  fly  into  a  panic  over  every  wild 
rumor  that  gets  afloat,  but  I  was  glad  the  courier 
came,  for  three  o'clock  was  the  hour  appointed  for  us 
to  start,  and  I  was  sleeping  so  soundly  that  I  am  sure 
I  would  never  have  waked  in  time  but  for  him.  The 
moon  had  just  risen  as  we  moved  out  of  Sparta,  and 
I  walked  with  Fred  in  the  pleasant  night  air  till  day 
began  to  dawn.  We  tried  to  get  breakfast  at  Culver's, 
and  again  at  Whaley's,  the  only  public  houses  on  the 
way,  but  were  refused  at  both  places,  so  we  had  to 
satisfy  ourselves  with  the  recollection  of  Mrs.  Har- 
ris's good  supper  and  a  crust  of  stale  bread  that  I 
found  in  Arch's  basket.     We  reached  Mayfield  about 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  171 

nine  and  had  to  wait  an  hour  for  the  cars  to  start. 
Mrs.  Hammond  had  got  there  before  us.  She  said 
that  she  could  find  no  shelter  the  night  before,  and 
had  to  sleep  out  under  the  trees  with  her  little  chil- 
dren. She  is  a  sensible  woman,  and  didn't  seem  dis- 
posed to  make  a  martyr  of  herself,  but  I  felt  ashamed 
for  Georgia  hospitality.  Our  other  companions  joined 
us  at  Mayfield,  and  the  Toombses  brought  the  general 
with  them.  I  was  glad  to  see  him  safe  thus  far,  out 
of  Yankee  clutches,  but  I  would  not  like  to  be  in  his 
shoes  when  the  end  comes.  He  brought  confirmation 
of  Lee's  surrender,  and  of  the  armistice  between 
Johnston  and  Sherman.  Alas,  we  all  know  only  too 
well  what  that  armistice  means!  It  is  all  over  with 
us  now,  and  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  bow  our  heads 
in  the  dust  and  let  the  hateful  conquerors  trample  us 
under  their  feet.  There  is  a  complete  revulsion  in 
public  feeling.  No  more  talk  now  about  fighting  to 
the  last  ditch;  the  last  ditch  has  already  been  reached; 
no  more  talk  about  help  from  France  and  England, 
but  all  about  emigration  to  Mexico  and  Brazil.  We 
are  irretrievably  ruined,  past  the  power  of  France  and 
England  to  save  us  now.  Europe  has  quietly  folded 
her  hands  and  beheld  a  noble  nation  perish.  God 
grant  she  may  yet  have  cause  to  repent  her  cowardice 
and  folly  in  suffering  this  monstrous  power  that  has 
crushed  us  to  roll  on  unchecked.  We  fought  nobly 
and  fell  bravely,  overwhelmed  by  numbers  and  re- 
sources, with  never  a  hand  held  out  to  save  us.     I 


172     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

hate  all  the  world  when  I  think  of  it.  I  am  crushed 
and  bowed  down  to  the  earth,  in  sorrow,  but  not  in 
shame.  No!  I  am  more  of  a  rebel  to-day  than  ever 
I  was  when  things  looked  brightest  for  the  Confed- 
eracy. And  it  makes  me  furious  to  see  how  many 
Union  men  are  cropping  up  everywhere,  and  how  few 
there  are,  to  hear  them  talk  now,  who  really  approved 
of  secession,  though  four  years  ago,  my  own  dear  old 
father — I  hate  to  say  it,  but  he  did  what  he  thought 
was  right — was  almost  the  only  man  in  Georgia  who 
stood  out  openly  for  the  Union. 

We  found  the  railroad  between  Mayfield  and 
Camack  even  more  out  of  repair  than  when  we  passed 
over  it  last  winter,  and  the  cars  traveled  but  little 
faster  than  our  mule  team.  However,  we  reached 
Camack  in  time  for  the  train  from  Augusta,  and  as 
we  drew  up  at  the  platform,  somebody  thrust  his  head 
in  at  the  window  and  shouted :  "  Lincoln's  been  assas- 
sinated !  "  We  had  heard  so  many  absurd  rumors 
that  at  first  we  were  all  inclined  to  regard  this  as  a 
jest.  Somebody  laughed  and  asked  if  the  people  of 
Camack  didn't  know  that  April  Fools'  Day  was  past; 
a  voice  behind  us  remarked  that  Balaam's  ass  wasn't 
dead  yet,  and  was  answered  by  a  cry  of  "  Here's  your 
mule !  "  *  But  soon  the  truth  of  the  report  was  con- 
firmed. Some  fools  laughed  and  applauded,  but  wise 
people  looked  grave  and  held  their  peace.     It  is  a 


*  A  meaningless  slang  phrase  in  common  use  among  the  sol- 
diers during  the  war. 


OF   A   GEORGIA   GIRL  173 

terrible  blow  to  the  South,  for  it  places  that  vulgar 
renegade,  Andy  Johnson,  in  power,  and  will  give  the 
Yankees  an  excuse  for  charging  us  with  a  crime  which 
was  in  reality  only  the  deed  of  an  irresponsible  mad- 
man. Our  papers  ought  to  reprobate  it  universally. 
About  one  o'clock  we  reached  Barnett,  where  I  used 
to  feel  as  much  at  home  as  in  Washington  itself,  but 
there  was  such  a  crowd,  such  a  rush,  such  a  hurrying 
to  and  fro  at  the  quiet  little  depot,  that  I  could  hardly 
recognize  it.  The  train  on  our  Washington  branch 
was  crammed  with  soldiers;  I  saw  no  familiar  face 
except  Mr.  Edmundson,  the  conductor.  There  is  so 
much  travel  over  this  route  now  that  three  or  four 
trains  are  run  between  Washington  and  Barnett  daily, 
and  sometimes  double  that  number.  We  looked  out 
eagerly  for  the  first  glimpse  of  home,  and  when  the 
old  town  clock  came  into  view,  a  shout  of  joy  went 
up  from  us  returning  wanderers.  When  we  drew  up 
at  the  depot,  amid  all  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  an 
important  military  post,  I  could  hardly  believe  that 
this  was  the  same  quiet  little  village  we  had  left  sleep- 
ing in  the  winter  sunshine  five  months  ago.  Long 
trains  of  government  wagons  were  filing  through  the 
streets  and  we  ran  against  squads  of  soldiers  at  every 
turn.  Father  met  us  at  the  depot,  delighted  to  have 
us  under  his  protection  once  more,  and  the  rest  of  the 
family,  with  old  Toby  frisking  and  barking  for  joy, 
were  waiting  for  us  at  the  street  gate.  Mary  Day 
isn't  able  to  walk  that  far  yet,  but  we  met  her  in  the 


174     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

sitting-room.  She  is  not  exactly  pretty,  but  what  I 
should  call  picturesque-looking,  and  her  eyes  are  beau- 
tiful. Oh,  what  a  happy  meeting  we  all  had,  and  how 
beautiful  home  does  look,  with  the  green  leaves  on  the 
trees  and  the  Cherokee  roses  in  full  bloom,  flinging 
their  white  festoons  clear  over  the  top  of  the  big  syca- 
more by  the  gate!  Surely  this  old  home  of  ours  is 
the  choicest  spot  of  all  the  world. 

The  first  thing  we  did  after  seeing  everybody  and 
shaking  hands  all  round  with  the  negroes,  was  to  take 
a  good  bath,  and  I  had  just  finished  dressing  when 
Mrs.  Elzey  called,  with  Cousin  Boiling's  friend,  Capt. 
Hudson,  of  Richmond.  He  was  an  attache  of  the 
American  legation  in  Berlin  while  Cousin  Boiling  was 
there  studying  his  profession,  and  they  have  both  come 
back  with  the  charming  manners  and  small  affectations 
that  Americans  generally  acquire  in  Europe,  especially 
if  they  have  associated  much  with  the  aristocracy. 
People  may  laugh,  but  these  polished  manners  do 
make  men  very  nice  and  comfortable  to  be  with. 
They  are  so  adaptable,  and  always  know  just  the  right 
thing  to  say  and  do. 

Mrs.  Elzey  says  the  general  is  coming  to  Washing- 
ton with  the  rest  of  his  staff,  to  remain  till  something 
is  decided,  and  we  begin  to  know  what  is  before  us. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  175 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    PASSING   OF    THE    CONFEDERACY 

April  22 — May  5,   1865 

Explanatory  Note. — The  little  town  of  Washington, 
Ga.,  where  the  remaining  events  of  this  narrative  took 
place,  was  the  center  of  a  wealthy  planting  district  about 
fifty  miles  above  Augusta,  on  a  branch  of  the  Georgia 
Railroad.  The  population  at  this  time  was  about  2,200, 
one-third  of  which  was  probably  white.  Like  most  of  the 
older  towns  in  the  State  it  is  built  around  an  open  square, 
in  the  center  of  which  stood  the  quaint  old  county  court- 
house so  often  mentioned  in  this  part  of  the  diary,  with 
the  business  houses  of  the  village  grouped  around  it.  On 
the  north  side  was  the  old  bank  building,  where  Mr.  Davis 
held  his  last  meeting  with  such  of  his  official  family  as 
could  be  got  together,  and  signed  his  last  official  paper 
as  president  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  Two  rooms 
on  the  lower  floor  were  used  for  business  purposes,  while 
the  rest  of  the  building  was  occupied  as  a  residence  by 
the  cashier.  On  the  outbreak  of  the  war  the  bank  went 
out  of  business,  but  Dr.  J.  J.  Robertson,  who  was  cashier 
at  the  time,  continued  to  occupy  the  building  in  the  interest 
of  the  stockholders.  Mrs.  Robertson,  like  everybody  else 
in  the  village  at  that  time,  had  received  into  her  house  a 
number  of  refugees  and  other  strangers,  whom  the  col- 
lapse of  the  Confederacy  had  stranded  there.  Its  original 
name  clung  to  the  building  long  after  it  ceased  to  have 


176     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

anything  to  do  with  finance,  and  hence  the  frequent  al- 
lusions to  "  the  bank  "  in  the  diary. 

And  now,  that  the  narrative  of  the  diary  may  be  clearer, 
I  must  crave  the  reader's  indulgence  while  I  add  a  few 
words  about  the  personal  surroundings  of  the  writer.  A 
diary,  unfortunately,  is  from  its  very  nature  such  a  self- 
centered  recital  that  the  personality  of  the  author,  how- 
ever insignificant,  cannot  be  got  rid  of. 

My  father,  Judge  Garnett  Andrews,  was  a  Georgian,  a 
lawyer  by  profession,  and  for  nearly  thirty  years  of  his 
life,  judge  of  the  Northern  Circuit,  holding  that  office  at 
the  time  of  his  death  in  1873.  He  was  stoutly  opposed  to 
secession,  but  made  no  objection  to  his  sons'  going  into 
the  Confederate  army,  and  I  am  sure  would  not  have 
wished  to  see  them  fighting  against  the  South.  Although 
he  had  retired  from  public  life  at  the  time,  he  was  elected 
to  the  legislature  in  i860  under  rather  unusual  circum- 
stances; for  the  secession  sentiment  in  the  county  was 
overwhelming,  and  his  unwavering  opposition  to  it  well 
known.  He  did  his  best  to  hold  Georgia  in  the  Union, 
but  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  tie  up  the  northwest 
wind  in  the  corner  of  a  pocket  handkerchief.  The 
most  he  could  do  was  to  advocate  the  call  of  a  conven- 
tion instead  of  voting  the  State  out  of  the  Union  on  the 
spot. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  night  when  the  news  came  that 
Georgia  had  seceded.  While  the  people  of  the  village 
were  celebrating  the  event  with  bonfires  and  bell  ringing 
and  speech  making,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  house,  dark- 
ened the  windows,  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room  in 
the  greatest  agitation.  Every  now  and  then,  when  the 
noise  of  the  shouting  and  the  ringing  of  bells  would  pene- 
trate to  our  ears  through  the  closed  doors  and  windows,  he 
would  pause  and  exclaim :  "  Poor  fools !     They  may  ring 


JUDGE   GARNETT   ANDREWS,  1827 
From  an  old  miniature 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  177 

their  bells  now,  but  they  will  wring  their  hands — yes,  and 
their  hearts,  too — before  they  are  done  with  it." 

This  scene  made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind,  as  may 
be  judged  from  the  frequent  allusions  to  it  in  the  diary. 
My  sister  Metta  and  I  were  pouting  in  a  corner  because 
he  would  not  allow  us  to  go  and  see  the  fun.  My  two 
brothers,  Henry  and  Garnett — Fred  was  on  the  planta- 
tion in  Mississippi — were  taking  an  active  part  in  the 
celebration,  and  I  myself  had  helped  to  make  the  flag 
that  was  waving  in  honor  of  the  event,  which  he  so 
bitterly  deplored.  It  was  the  same  Lone  Star  banner  of 
which  mention  is  made  in  the  text.  My  brother  Henry, 
who  was  about  as  hot-headed  a  fire-eater  as  could  be 
found  in  the  South,  had  brought  the  material  to  his  young 
wife — Cora,  of  the  journal — and  we  made  it  on  the  sly, 
well  knowing  that  our  "  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  "  would  soon 
become  a  "  Conquered  Banner,"  or  rather  a  confiscated 
one,  if  father  should  once  get  wind  of  what  we  were 
about.  It  consisted  of  a  large  five-pointed  star,  the  em- 
blem of  States'  Rights,  and  was  made  of  white  domestic 
on  a  field  of  blue.  It  was  afterwards  ripped  off  in  the 
strenuous  days  when  our  boys  were  following  the  "  Stars 
and  Bars,"  and  the  blue  field  used  to  line  the  blanket  of  a 
Confederate  soldier.  What  was  left  of  it  when  he  came 
back  is  still  preserved  in  the  family. 

My  father  was  not  what  would  now  be  called  a  rich 
man,  though  his  fortune  was  ample  for  those  times.  I  do 
not  think  he  owned  more  than  200  negroes.  The  ex- 
travagant ideas  that  have  been  propagated  by  irresponsible 
writers  about  the  fabulous  wealth  of  the  old  planters  had 
no  foundation  in  fact,  outside  a  few  exceptional  cases. 
There  was,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  but  a  single 
man  in  Georgia  who  was  reputed  to  be  worth  as  much  as 
a  million  dollars,  and  he  gained  not  one  iota  of  importance 


178      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

or  influence  from  this  source.  His  family  lived  very  much 
as  the  rest  of  us  did,  and  their  social  position  was  as  good 
as  anybody's,  but  for  that  divinity  which  would  now  at- 
tach to  the  mere  vulgar  fact  of  being  the  richest  man  of 
his  state,  it  is  doubtful  whether,  if  a  list  were  made  of 
the  twenty-five  most  influential  families  in  Georgia  at 
that  time,  his  name  would  even  be  mentioned  in  it. 

While  the  structure  of  our  social  fabric  was  aristocratic, 
in  the  actual  relations  of  the  white  population  with  one  an- 
other it  was  extremely  democratic.  Life  was  simple, 
patriarchal,  unostentatious.  Our  chief  extravagance  was 
the  exercise  of  unlimited  hospitality.  Anybody  that 
was  respectable  was  welcome  to  come  as  often  as  they 
liked  and  stay  as  long  as  they  pleased,  and  I  remember 
very  few  occasions  during  my  father's  life  when  there 
were  no  guests  in  the  house.  His  family  proper,  at  this 
time,  not  counting  guests,  included,  besides  his  wife  and 
children  (there  were  seven  of  us),  my  brother  Henry's 
wife  and  her  little  daughter,  Maud,  now  Mrs.  J.  K.  Ohl, 
known  to  the  press  as  Annulet  Andrews;  Mrs.  L.  S. 
Brown  ("Aunt  Sallie  "  of  the  diary),  and  Miss  Eliza 
Bowen,  a  niece  of  my  father,  who  had  been  adopted  into 
his  family  many  years  before,  on  the  death  of  her  parents, 
not  as  a  dependent,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  guidance  and 
protection  which  every  "  female  "  was  supposed,  in  those 
days,  to  require  at  the  hand  of  her  nearest  male  relation. 
She  was  a  woman  of  unusual  intelligence,  but  full  of 
amusing  eccentricities  that  were  a  constant  source  of 
temptation  to  us  fun-loving  young  people,  and  often  got 
us  into  trouble  with  our  elders.  She  was  known  later  as 
the  author  of  a  successful  school  book,  "  Astronomy  by 
Observation." 

"  Aunt  Sallie  "  was  a  quaint,  lovable  old  lady,  famous 
for  her  good  dinners  and  her  wonderful  frosted  cakes, 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  179 

without  which  no  wedding  supper  in  the  village  was  com- 
plete. But  the  accomplishment  she  took  the  greatest 
pride  in,  was  her  gift  for  "  writing  poetry  " — which  con- 
fined itself,  however,  to  the  innocent  practice  of  compos- 
ing acrostics  on  the  names  of  her  friends.  The  deprecat- 
ing, yet  self-conscious  air  with  which  these  very  original 
productions  were  slipped  into  our  hands  on  birthdays  and 
other  anniversaries,  was  only  less  amusing  than  the  verses 
themselves.  She  had  no  children,  but  a  little  pet  negro 
named  Simon,  the  son  of  a  favorite  maid  who  had  died, 
filled  a  large  place  in  her  affections  and  used  to  "  bull- 
doze "  her  as  completely  as  if  she  had  been  the  mother 
of  a  dozen  unruly  boys  of  her  own.  We  rather  rejoiced 
in  her  emancipation  when  the  foolish  lad  deserted  her 
for  the  delights  of  freedom,  soon  after  the  close  of  the 
war,  but  the  kind-hearted  old  lady  never  ceased  to  mourn 
over  his  ingratitude.  She  was  a  great  beauty  in  her 
youth,  and  to  the  day  of  her  death,  in  1866,  retained  a  co- 
quettish regard  for  appearances,  which  showed  itself  in 
a  scrupulous  anxiety  about  the  set  of  her  cap  frills  and  the 
fit  of  her  prim,  but  always  neat  and  handsome,  black 
gowns. 

It  was  in  the  later  years  of  her  life,  that  she  came  to 
live  at  Haywood  in  order  to  be  near  my  mother,  who 
was  her  niece,  and  occupied  a  cottage  that  was  built  es- 
pecially for  her  in  a  corner  of  the  yard.  It  was  a  com- 
mon custom  in  those  days,  when  the  demands  of  hos- 
pitality outgrew  the  capacity  of  the  planter's  mansion,  to 
build  one  or  more  cottages  near  it  to  receive  the  overflow, 
and  hence,  the  old-fashioned  Southern  homestead  was  of- 
ten more  like  a  small  village  than  an  ordinary  residence. 
There  were  two  cottages,  one  on  each  side  of  the  front 
gate,  at  Haywood,  one  occupied  by  "  Aunt  Sallie,"  the 
other  built  for  the  use  of  my  married  sister,  Mrs.  Troup 


180     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Butler,  when  she  came  up  from  the  plantation  with  her 
family  to  spend  the  summer.  The  main  residence  was 
spoken  of  as  "  the  big  house,"  or  simply,  "  the  house,"  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  other  buildings.  Including  the 
stables  and  negro  quarters,  there  were,  if  I  remember  cor- 
rectly, fourteen  buildings,  besides  "  the  big  house,"  on  the 
grounds  at  Haywood,  and  this  was  not  a  plantation  home 
with  its  great  population  of  field  hands,  but  a  town  resi- 
dence, where  there  were  never  more  than  twenty  or  thirty 
servants  to  be  housed,  including  children. 

The  Irvin  Artillery,  so  frequently  alluded  to,  was  the 
first  military  company  organized  in  the  county,  and  con- 
tained the  flower  of  the  youth  of  the  village.  It  was 
named  for  a  prominent  citizen  of  the  town,  father  of 
the  unreconstructible  "  Charley  "  mentioned  later,  and  an 
uncle  of  the  unwitting  Maria,  whose  innocent  remark 
gave  such  umbrage  to  my  father's  belligerent  daughter. 


April  22,  Saturday. — I  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  I  had 
eaten  supper  last  night  and  never  did  I  enjoy  a  sweeter 
rest;  home  beds  are  cleaner  and  softer  than  any  others, 
even  Mrs.  Harris's.  I  spent  the  better  part  of  the 
day  unpacking  and  arranging  my  things.  The  house 
is  so  crowded  with  company  that  I  have  had  to  give 
up  my  room  and  double  in  with  Mett.  I  keep  my 
clothes  wherever  I  can  find  a  place  for  them.  We 
went  to  walk  after  dinner  and  found  the  streets 
swarming  with  people.  Paroled  men  from  Lee's 
army  are  expected  every  day  now,  and  the  town  is 
already  as  full  as  it  can  hold.  The  only  hotel  has 
been  closed  and  private  hospitality  is  taxed  to  the 


'■m      sip* 


MRS.   GARNETT   ANDREWS,  nee  ANNULET   BALL,  1S27 
From  an  old  miniature 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  181 

utmost.  While  we  were  out,  the  Toombs  girls  called 
with  John  Ficklen  and  that  nice  Capt.  Thomas  we  met 
in  Milledgeville. 

April  23,  Sunday. — Gen.  Elzey  and  staff  arrived 
early  in  the  afternoon  and  called  here  at  once.  The 
general  has  a  fine,  soldierly  appearance  and  charming 
manners,  like  all  West  Pointers — except,  of  course, 
those  brutes  like  Butler  and  Sherman  and  their  mur- 
derous clan.  Capt.  Irwin,  Mrs.  Elzey's  brother,  is 
going  to  stay  at  our  house,  and  the  whole  family  has 
fallen  in  love  with  him  at  first  sight.  He  is  the  dear- 
est, jolliest  fellow  that  ever  lived,  and  keeps  up  his 
spirits  under  circumstances  that  would  have  put  down 
even  Mark  Tapley.  His  wife  and  six  daughters  are 
in  the  enemy's  lines,  at  Norfolk;  six  daughters,  in 
these  awful  times !  and  the  father  of  them  can  still 
laugh.  He  has  a  way  of  screwing  up  his  face  when 
he  says  anything  funny  that  gives  him  an  indescrib- 
ably comical  appearance.  This  is  enhanced  by  a  little 
round  bald  head,  like  Santa  Claus,  the  result  of  a 
singular  accident,  while  he  was  still  a  young  man.  At 
a  dinner  party  given  on  the  occasion  of  a  wedding  in 
the  family,  one  of  the  servants  let  fall  a  hot  oyster 
pate  on  top  of  his  head.  It  blistered  the  scalp  so  that 
the  hair  fell  out  and  never  grew  back.  He  must  have 
been  very  good-natured  not  to  assassinate  that  servant 
on  the  spot. 

April  24,  Monday. — The  shattered  remains  of 
Lee's  army  are  beginning  to  arrive.     There  is  an  end- 


182      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

less  stream  passing  between  the  transportation  office 
and  the  depot,  and  trains  are  going  and  coming  at  all 
hours.  The  soldiers  bring  all  sorts  of  rumors  and 
keep  us  stirred  up  in  a  state  of  never-ending  excite- 
ment. Our  avenue  leads  from  the  principal  street  on 
which  they  pass,  and  great  numbers  stop  to  rest  in 
the  grove.  Emily  is  kept  busy  cooking  rations  for 
them,  and  pinched  as  we  are  ourselves  for  supplies,  it 
is  impossible  to  refuse  anything  to  the  men  that  have 
been  fighting  for  us.  Even  when  they  don't  ask  for 
anything  the  poor  fellows  look  so  tired  and  hungry 
that  we  feel  tempted  to  give  them  everything  we  have. 
Two  nice-looking  officers  came  to  the  kitchen  door  this 
afternoon  while  I  was  in  there  making  some  sorghum 
cakes  to  send  to  Gen.  Elzey's  camp.  They  then 
walked  slowly  through  the  back  yard,  and  seemed  re- 
luctant to  tear  themselves  away  from  such  a  sweet, 
beautiful  place.  Nearly  everybody  that  passes  the 
street  gate  stops  and  looks  up  the  avenue,  and  I  know 
they  can't  help  thinking  what  a  beautiful  place  it  is. 
The  Cherokee  rose  hedge  is  white  with  blooms.  It  is 
glorious.  A  great  many  of  the  soldiers  camp  in  the 
grove,  though  Col.  Weems  [the  Confederate  comman- 
dant of  the  post]  has  located  a  public  camping-ground 
for  them  further  out  of  town.  The  officers  often  ask 
for  a  night's  lodging,  but  our  house  is  always  so  full  of 
friends  who  have  a  nearer  claim,  that  a  great  many 
have  to  be  refused.  It  hurts  my  conscience  ever  to 
turn  off  a  Confederate  soldier  on  any  account,  but  we 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  183 

are  so  overwhelmed  with  company — friends  and  peo- 
ple bringing  letters  of  introduction — that  the  house,  big 
as  it  is,  will  hardly  hold  us  all,  and  members  of  the 
family  have  to  pack  together  like  sardines.  Capt. 
John  Nightingale's  servant  came  in  this  afternoon — 
the  "  little  Johnny  Nightingale  "  I  used  to  play  with 
down  on  the  old  Tallassee  plantation — but  reports 
that  he  does  not  know  where  his  master  is.  He  says 
the  Yankees  captured  him  (the  negro)  and  took  away 
his  master's  horse  that  he  was  tending,  but  as  soon  as 
night  came  on  he  made  his  escape  on  another  horse 
that  he  "  took  "  from  them,  and  put  out  for  home. 
He  says  he  don't  like  the  Yankees  because  they 
"  didn't  show  no  respec'  for  his  feelin's."  He  talks 
with  a  strong  salt-water  brogue  and  they  laughed  at 
him,  which  he  thought  very  ill-mannered.  Father  sent 
him  round  to  the  negro  quarters  to  wait  till  his  master 
turns  up. 

April  25,  Tuesday. — Maj.  Hall,  one  of  Gen.  Elzey's 
staff,  has  been  taken  with  typhoid  fever,  so  father 
sent  out  to  the  camp  and  told  them  to  bring  him  to  our 
house,  but  Mrs.  Robertson  had  a  spare  room  at  the 
bank  and  took  him  there  where  he  can  be  better  cared 
for  than  in  our  house,  that  is  full  as  an  ant-hill  already. 
I  went  round  to  the  bank  after  breakfast  to  see  Mrs. 
Elzey  and  inquire  about  him.  The  square  is  so 
crowded  with  soldiers  and  government  wagons  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  make  way  through  it.  It  is  especially 
difficult  around  the  government  offices,  where  the  poor, 


1 84     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

ragged,  starved,  and  dirty  remnants  of  Lee's  heroic 
army  are  gathered  day  and  night.  The  sidewalk  along 
there  is  alive  with  vermin,  and  some  people  say  they 
have  seen  lice  crawling  along  on  the  walls  of  the 
houses.  Poor  fellows,  this  is  worse  than  facing 
Yankee  bullets.  These  men  were,  most  of  them,  born 
gentlemen,  and  there  could  be  no  more  pitiful  evidence 
of  the  hardships  they  have  suffered  than  the  lack  of 
means  to  free  themselves  from  these  disgusting 
creatures.  Even  dirt  and  rags  can  be  heroic,  some- 
times. At  the  spring  in  our  grove,  where  the  soldiers 
come  in  great  numbers  to  wash  their  faces,  and  some- 
times, their  clothes,  lice  have  been  seen  crawling  in 
the  grass,  so  that  we  are  afraid  to  walk  there.  Little 
Washington  is  now,  perhaps,  the  most  important  mil- 
itary post  in  our  poor,  doomed  Confederacy.  The 
naval  and  medical  departments  have  been  moved  here 
— what  there  is  left  of  them.  Soon  all  this  will  give 
place  to  Yankee  barracks,  and  our  dear  old  Confed- 
erate gray  will  be  seen  no  more.  The  men  are  all 
talking  about  going  to  Mexico  and  Brazil;  if  all  emi- 
grate who  say  they  are  going  to,  we  shall  have  a  nation 
made  up  of  women,  negroes,  and  Yankees. 

I  joined  a  party  after  dinner  in  a  walk  out  to  the 
general  camping  ground  in  Cousin  Will  Pope's  woods. 
The  Irvin  Artillery  are  coming  in  rapidly;  I  suppose 
they  will  all  be  here  by  the  end  of  the  week — or  what 
is  left  of  them — but  their  return  is  even  sadder  and 
amid  bitterer  tears  than  their  departure,  for  now  "  we 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  185 

weep  as  they  that  have  no  hope."  Everybody  is  cast 
down  and  humiliated,  and  we  are  all  waiting  in  sus- 
pense to  know  what  our  cruel  masters  will  do  with  us. 
Think  of  a  vulgar  plebeian  like  Andy  Johnson,  and 
that  odious  Yankee  crew  at  Washington,  lording  it 
over  Southern  gentlemen !  I  suppose  we  shall  be  sub- 
jected to  every  indignity  that  hatred  and  malice  can 
heap  upon  us.  Till  it  comes,  "  Let  us  eat,  drink  and 
be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die."  Only,  we  have  al- 
most nothing  to  eat,  and  to  drink,  and  still  less  to  be 
merry  about. 

Our  whirlwind  of  a  cousin,  Robert  Ball,  has  made 
his  appearance,  but  is  hurrying  on  to  New  Orleans 
and  says  he  has  but  one  day  to  spend  with  us. 

The  whole  world  seems  to  be  moving  on  Washing- 
ton now.  An  average  of  2,000  rations  are  issued 
daily,  and  over  15,000  men  are  said  to  have  passed 
through  already,  since  it  became  a  military  post, 
though  the  return  of  the  paroled  men  has  as  yet  hardly 
begun. 

April  26,  Wednesday. — Gen.  Elzey  lent  his  ambu- 
lances, and  we  had  a  charming  little  picnic  under  the 
management  of  Capt.  Hardy.  We  left  town  at  seven 
o'clock,  before  the  sun  was  too  hot,  and  drove  to  a 
creek  ten  miles  out,  where  we  spent  the  day  in  a  beauti- 
ful grove,  so  shady  that  the  sun  could  not  penetrate 
at  noon-day.  Gen.  Elzey  and  all  the  staff  were  there. 
Our  amusements  were  cards,  fishing  in  the  creek, 
rambling  about  through  the  woods,  and  sitting  in  little 

13 


186      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

circles  on  the  grass,  talking  about  what  we  are  going 
to  do  under  the  new  order  of  things.  Some  comical 
pictures  were  drawn  of  our  future  occupations,  and 
we  guyed  each  other  a  good  deal  about  our  prospects. 
I  am  to  take  in  washing,  Mett  to  raise  chickens  and 
peddle  them  in  a  cart  drawn  by  Dixie;  Capt.  Irwin  is 
to  join  the  minstrels,  and  Capt.  Palfrey  to  be  a  dancing 
master — but  down  in  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  we  felt 
that  there  is  likely  to  be  little  occasion  for  laughter 
in  the  end.  The  drive  home  was  rather  hot  and  dusty, 
and  our  enjoyment  was  damped  by  the  sight  of  the 
poor  soldiers  that  we  met,  trundling  along  the  road; 
they  looked  so  weary  and  ragged  and  travel-stained. 
Many  of  them,  overcome  with  fatigue,  were  lying 
down  to  rest  on  the  bare  ground  by  the  roadside.  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself  for  riding  when  they  had  to 
walk.  These  are  the  straggling  remnants  of  those 
splendid  armies  that  have  been  for  four  years  a  terror 
to  the  North,  the  glory  of  the  South,  and  the  wonder 
of  the  world.     Alas,  alas! 

April  27,  Thursday. — Robert  Ball  left  for  New  Or- 
leans, Mary  Day  for  a  short  visit  to  Augusta,  and 
Cora  returned  from  there,  where  she  had  gone  to  bid 
farewell  to  General  and  Mrs.  Fry,  who  have  arranged 
to  make  their  future  home  in  Cuba.  The  Elzeys  and 
many  other  visitors  called  during  the  evening.  We 
had  a  delightful  serenade  in  the  night,  but  Toby  kept 
up  such  a  barking  that  we  couldn't  half  get  the  good 
of  it.     Their  songs  were  all  about  the  sea,  so  I  suppose 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  187 

the  serenaders  were  naval  officers.  The  navy  depart- 
ment has  been  ordered  away  from  here — and  Wash- 
ington would  seem  a  very  queer  location  for  a  navy 
that  had  any  real  existence.  Capt.  Parker  sent  Lieut. 
Peck  this  morning  with  a  letter  to  father  and  seven 
great  boxes  full  of  papers  and  instruments  belonging 
to  the  department,  which  he  requested  father  to  take 
care  of.  Father  had  them  stored  in  the  cellar,  the 
only  place  where  he  could  find  a  vacant  spot,  and  so 
now,  about  all  that  is  left  of  the  Confederate  Navy  is 
here  in  our  house,  and  we  laugh  and  tell  father,  that 
he,  the  staunchest  Union  man  in  Georgia,  is  head  of 
the  Confederate  Navy. 

April  28,  Friday. — Dr.  Aylett,  one  of  the  lecturers 
at  Bellevue  Hospital  when  Henry  was  a  student  there, 
took  breakfast  with  us.  He  is  stone  blind,  and  mak- 
ing his  way  to  Selma,  Ala.,  attended  only  by  a  negro 
boy.  If  the  negro  should  desert,  he  would  be  in  a 
forlorn  plight,  though  he  does  seem  to  have  a  wonder- 
ful faculty  for  taking  care  of  himself.  I  have  heard 
Henry  say  he  used  to  find  his  way  about  in  New  York 
City,  with  no  guide  but  his  stick,  as  readily  as  if  he  had 
had  eyes. 

I  was  busy  all  the  morning  helping  to  get  ready  for 
a  supper  that  father  gave  to  Gen.  Elzey  and  staff.  The 
table  was  beautiful;  it  shone  like  a  mirror.  There 
were  seats  for  twenty-two,  and  everything  on  it  solid 
silver,  except  the  cups  and  saucers  and  plates,  which 
were  of  beautiful  old   china  that  had  belonged  to 


188      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Cora's  grandmother.  But  it  was  all  in  absurd  con- 
trast to  what  we  had  to  eat.  The  cake  was  all  made 
of  sorghum  molasses,  and  the  strawberries  were  sweet- 
ened with  the  coarsest  kind  of  brown  sugar,  but  we 
were  glad  to  have  even  that,  and  it  tasted  good  to  us 
hungry  Rebs.  Emily  was  kept  so  busy  all  day  cooking 
rations  for  soldiers  that  she  hardly  had  time  for  any- 
thing else,  and  I  was  so  sorry  for  the  poor  fellows  that 
no  matter  what  I  happened  to  have  in  my  hand,  if  a 
soldier  came  up  and  looked  wistfuly  at  it,  I  couldn't 
help  giving  it  to  him.  Some  of  them,  as  they  talked 
to  me  about  the  surrender,  would  break  down  and  cry 
like  children.  I  took  all  the  lard  and  eggs  mother 
had  left  out  for  Emily  to  cook  with  and  gave  to  them, 
because  I  could  not  bear  to  see  them  eating  heavy  old 
biscuit  made  of  nothing  but  flour  and  water.  In  this 
way  a  good  part  of  our  supper  was  disposed  of  before 
we  sat  down  to  it,  but  nobody  grudged  the  loss.  In 
spite  of  his  being  such  a  strong  Union  man,  and  his 
bitter  opposition  to  secession,  father  never  refuses 
anything  to  the  soldiers.  I  blame  the  secession  poli- 
ticians myself,  but  the  cause  for  which  my  brothers 
risked  their  lives,  the  cause  for  which  so  many  noble 
Southerners  have  bled  and  died,  and  for  which  such 
terrible  sacrifices  have  been  made,  is  dear  to  my  heart, 
right  or  wrong.  The  more  misfortunes  overwhelm 
my  poor  country,  the  more  I  love  it;  the  more  the 
Yankees  triumph,  the  worse  I  hate  them,  wretches! 
I  would  rather  be  wrong  with  men  like  Lee  and  Davis, 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  189 

than  right  with  a  lot  of  miserable  oppressors  like  Stan- 
ton and  Thad  Stevens.  The  wrong  of  disrupting  the 
old  Union  was  nothing  to  the  wrongs  that  are  being 
done  for  its  restoration. 

We  had  a  delightful  evening,  in  spite  of  the  clouds 
gathering  about  us.  The  Toombses,  Popes,  Mary 
Wynn,  Mr.  Saile,  and  Capt.  John  Garnett,  our  Vir- 
ginia cousin,  were  invited  to  meet  the  general  and 
staff.  Capt.  Garnett  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I 
ever  saw,  with  magnificent  black  eyes  and  hair,  but 
seems  to  me  wanting  in  vivacity.  I  reckon  it  is  be- 
cause he  is  in  love  with  a  frisky  widow,  who  is  leading 
him  a  dance,  for  the  gentlemen  all  like  him,  and  say 
that  he  has  a  great  deal  of  dry  humor.  We  had 
several  sets  of  the  Lancers  and  Prince  Imperial,  inter- 
spersed with  waltzes  and  galops,  and  wound  up  with 
an  old-fashioned  Virginia  reel,  Gen.  Elzey  and  I  lead- 
ing off.  The  general  is  too  nice  for  anything.  I  told 
Mrs.  Elzey  that  if  she  hadn't  had  first  chance  at  him, 
I  would  fall  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  him 
myself. 

April  29,  Saturday. — Visitors  all  day,  in  shoals  and 
swarms.  Capt.  Irwin  brought  Judge  Crump  of  Rich- 
mond, to  stay  at  our  house.  He  is  an  ugly  old  fellow, 
with  a  big  nose,  but  perfectly  delightful  in  conversa- 
tion, and  father  says  he  wishes  he  would  stay  a  month. 
Capt.  Irwin  seems  very  fond  of  him,  and  says  there 
is  no  man  in  Virginia  more  beloved  and  respected.  He 
is  Assistant  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  or  something 


190     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

of  the  sort,  and  is  wandering  about  the  country  with 
his  poor  barren  exchequer,  trying  to  protect  what  is 
left  of  it,  for  the  payment  of  Confederate  soldiers. 
He  has  in  charge,  also,  the  assets  of  some  Richmond 
banks,  of  which  he  is,  or  was,  president,  dum  Troja 
fuit.  He  says  that  in  Augusta  he  met  twenty-five  of 
his  clerks  with  ninety-five  barrels  of  papers  not  worth 
a  pin  all  put  together,  which  they  had  brought  out  of 
Richmond,  while  things  of  real  value  were  left  a  prey 
to  the  enemy. 

April  30,  Sunday. — We  were  all  standing  under  the 
ash  tree  by  the  fountain  after  breakfast,  watching  the 
antics  of  a  squirrel  up  in  the  branches,  when  Gen. 
Elzey  and  Touch  [name  by  which  the  general's  son, 
Arnold,  a  lad  of  14,  was  known  among  his  friends] 
came  to  tell  us  that  Garnett  was  wounded  in  the  fight 
at  Salisbury,  N.  C.  Mr.  Saile  brought  the  news  from 
Augusta,  but  could  give  no  particulars  except  that  his 
wound  was  not  considered  dangerous,  and  that  his 
galvanized  Yanks  behaved  badly,  as  anybody  might 
have  known  they  would.  A  little  later  the  mail 
brought  a  letter  from  Gen.  Gardiner,  his  commanding 
officer,  entirely  relieving  our  fears  for  his  personal 
safety.  He  is  a  prisoner,  but  will  soon  be  paroled. 
When  I  came  in  from  church  in  the  afternoon,  I  found 
Burton  Harrison,  Mr.  Davis's  private  secretary, 
among  our  guests.  He  is  said  to  be  engaged  to  the 
Miss  Constance  Carey,  of  whom  my  old  Montgomery 
acquaintance,  that  handsome  Ed  Carey,  used  to  talk 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  191 

so  much.  He  came  in  with  Mrs.  Davis,  who  is  being 
entertained  at  Dr.  Ficklen's.  Nobody  knows  where 
the  President  is,  but  I  hope  he  is  far  west  of  this  by 
now.  All  sorts  of  ridiculous  rumors  are  afloat  con- 
cerning him;  one,  that  he  passed  through  town  yester- 
day hid  in  a  box  marked  "  specie,"  might  better  begin 
with  an  h.  Others,  equally  reliable,  appoint  every 
day  in  the  week  for  his  arrival  in  Washington  with  a 
bodyguard  of  1,000  men,  but  I  am  sure  he  has  better 
sense  than  to  travel  in  such  a  conspicuous  way.  Mr. 
Harrison  probably  knows  more  about  his  whereabouts 
than  anybody  else,  but  of  course  we  ask  no  questions. 
Mrs.  Davis  herself  says  that  she  has  no  idea  where 
he  is,  which  is  the  only  wise  thing  for  her  to  say.  The 
poor  woman  is  in  a  deplorable  condition — no  home, 
no  money,  and  her  husband  a  fugitive.  She  says  she 
sold  her  plate  in  Richmond,  and  in  the  stampede  from 
that  place,  the  money,  all  but  fifty  dollars,  was  left 
behind.  I  am  very  sorry  for  her,  and  wish  I  could  do 
something  to  help  her,  but  we  are  all  reduced  to 
poverty,  and  the  most  we  can  do  is  for  those  of  us  who 
have  homes  to  open  our  doors  to  the  rest.  If  secession 
were  to  do  over,  I  expect  father's  warning  voice  would 
no  longer  be  silenced  by  jeers,  and  I  would  no  more 
be  hooted  at  as  the  daughter  of  a  "  submissionist." 
But  I  have  not  much  respect  for  the  sort  of  Union 
men  that  are  beginning  to  talk  big  now,  and  hope  my 
father  will  never  turn  against  his  own  people  like  that 
infamous  "  Committee  of  Seventeen,"  in  Savannah. 


192      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Right  or  wrong,  I  believe  in  standing  by  your  own 
people,  especially  when  they  are  down.* 

May  i,  Monday. — Crowds  of  callers  all  day.  The 
Irvin  Artillery  are  back,  and  it  was  almost  like  a  re- 
ception, so  many  of  them  kept  coming  in.  Capt. 
Thomas  called  again  with  Capt.  Garnett.  They  staid 
a  long  time,  and  we  enjoyed  their  visit,  except  for  a 
stupid  blunder.  Capt.  Thomas  informed  us  that  he 
was  a  widower,  with  one  child,  but  he  looked  so  boyish 
that  we  thought  he  was  joking  and  treated  the  matter 
with  such  levity  that  we  were  horribly  mortified  later, 
when  Capt.  Garnett  told  us  it  was  true.  I  told  Mett 
neither  of  us  could  ever  hope  to  be  stepmother  to  that 
little  boy. 

Men  were  coming  in  all  day,  with  busy  faces,  to 
see  Mr.  Harrison,  and  one  of  them  brought  news  of 
Johnston's  surrender,  but  Mr.  Harrison  didn't  tell  any- 
body about  it  except  father,  and  the  rest  of  us  were 
left  in  ignorance  till  afternoon  when  Fred  came  back 
with  the  news  from  Augusta.  While  we  were  at 
dinner,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Davis  came  in  and  called 
for  Mr.  Harrison,  and  after  a  hurried  interview  with 
him,  Mr.  Harrison  came  back  into  the  dining-room 
and  said  it  had  been  decided  that  Mrs.  Davis  would 


*  Reference  is  made  above  to  a  meeting  held  in  Savannah  a 
short  time  before  by  a  small  number  of  "  loyal  "  citizens,  including 
the  mayor  and  some  of  the  city  council,  with  a  view  to  bringing 
the  municipal  government  into  harmony  with  the  Federal  author- 
ities. Their  action  was  considered  servile  and  unwarranted,  and 
excited  great  indignation  throughout  the  State. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  193 

leave  town  to-morrow.  Delicacy  forbade  our  asking 
any  questions,  but  I  suppose  they  were  alarmed  by 
some  of  the  numerous  reports  that  are  always  flying 
about  the  approach  of  the  Yankees.  Mother  called 
on  Mrs.  Davis  this  afternoon,  and  she  really  believes 
they  are  on  their  way  here  and  may  arrive  at  any 
moment.  She  seemed  delighted  with  her  reception 
here,  and,  to  the  honor  of  our  town,  it  can  be  truly 
said  that  she  has  received  more  attention  than  would 
have  been  shown  her  even  in  the  palmiest  days  of  her 
prosperity. 

The  conduct  of  a  Texas  regiment  in  the  streets  this 
afternoon  gave  us  a  sample  of  the  chaos  and  general 
demoralization  that  may  be  expected  to  follow  the 
breaking  up  of  our  government.  They  raised  a  riot 
about  their  rations,  in  which  they  were  joined  by  all 
the  disorderly  elements  among  both  soldiers  and  citi- 
zens. First  they  plundered  the  Commissary  Depart- 
ment, and  then  turned  loose  on  the  quartermaster's 
stores.  Paper,  pens,  buttons,  tape,  cloth — everything 
in  the  building — was  seized  and  strewn  about  on  the 
ground.  Negroes  and  children  joined  the  mob  and 
grabbed  what  they  could  of  the  plunder.  Col. 
Weems's  provost  guard  refused  to  interfere,  saying 
they  were  too  good  soldiers  to  fire  on  their  comrades, 
and  so  the  plundering  went  on  unopposed.  Nobody 
seemed  to  care  much,  as  we  all  know  the  Yankees  will 
get  it  in  the  end,  any  way,  if  our  men  don't.  I  was 
at  Miss  Maria  Randolph's  when  the  disturbance  began, 


194      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

but  by  keeping  to  the  back  streets  I  avoided  the  worst 
of  the  row,  though  I  encountered  a  number  of  strag- 
glers, running  away  with  their  booty.  The  soldiers 
were  very  generous  with  their  "  confiscated  "  goods, 
giving  away  paper,  pens,  tape,  &c,  to  anybody  they 
happened  to  meet.  One  of  them  poked  a  handful  of 
pen  staves  at  me ;  another,  staggering  under  an  armful 
of  stationery,  threw  me  a  ream  of  paper,  saying: 
"  There,  take  that  and  write  to  your  sweetheart  on  it." 
I  took  no  notice  of  any  of  them,  but  hurried  on  home 
as  fast  as  I  could,  all  the  way  meeting  negroes,  chil- 
dren, and  men  loaded  with  plunder.  When  I  reached 
home  I  found  some  of  our  own  servants  with  their 
arms  full  of  thread,  paper,  and  pens,  which  they 
offered  to  sell  me,  and  one  of  them  gave  me  several 
reams  of  paper.  I  carried  them  to  father,  and  he  col- 
lected all  the  other  booty  he  could  find,  intending  to 
return  it  to  headquarters,  but  he  was  told  that  there 
is  no  one  to  receive  it,  no  place  to  send  it  to — in  fact, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  longer  any  headquarters  nor 
any  other  semblance  of  authority.  Father  saved  one 
box  of  bacon  for  Col.  Weems  by  hauling  it  away  in 
his  wagon  and  concealing  it  in  his  smokehouse.  All 
of  Johnston's  army  and  the  greater  portion  of  Lee's 
are  still  to  pass  through,  and  since  the  rioters  have  de- 
stroyed so  much  of  the  forage  and  provisions  intended 
for  their  use,  there  will  be  great  difficulty  in  feeding 
them.  They  did  not  stop  at  food,  but  helped  them- 
selves to  all  the  horses  and  mules  they  needed.    A  band 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  195 

of  them  made  a  raid  on  Gen.  Elzey's  camp  and  took 
nine  of  his  mules.  They  excused  themselves  by  say- 
ing that  all  government  stores  will  be  seized  by  the 
Yankees  in  a  few  days,  any  way,  if  left  alone,  and  our 
own  soldiers  might  as  well  get  the  good  of  them  while 
they  can.  This  would  be  true,  if  there  were  not  so  many 
others  yet  to  come  who  ought  to  have  their  share. 

Our  back  yard  and  kitchen  have  been  filled  all  day, 
as  usual,  with  soldiers  waiting  to  have  their  rations 
cooked.  One  of  them,  who  had  a  wounded  arm,  came 
into  the  house  to  have  it  dressed,  and  said  that  he  was 
at  Salisbury  when  Garnett  was  shot  and  saw  him  fall. 
He  told  some  miraculous  stories  about  the  valorous 
deeds  of  "  the  colonel,"  and  although  they  were  so 
exaggerated  that  I  set  them  down  as  apocryphal,  I 
gave  him  a  piece  of  cake,  notwithstanding,  to  pay  him 
for  telling  them. 

May  2,  Tuesday. — Mr.  Harrison  left  this  morning, 
with  a  God-speed  from  all  the  family  and  prayers  for 
the  safety  of  the  honored  fugitives  committed  to  his 
charge. 

The  disorders  begun  by  the  Texans  yesterday  were 
continued  to-day,  every  fresh  band  that  arrived  from 
the  front  falling  into  the  way  of  their  predecessors 
They  have  been  pillaging  the  ordnance  stores  at  the 
depot,  in  which  they  were  followed  by  negroes,  boys 
and  mean  white  men.  I  don't  see  what  people  are 
thinking  about  to  let  ammunition  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  negroes,  but  everybody  is  demoralized  and  reck- 


: 


196      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

less  and  nobody  seems  to  care  about  anything  any 
more.  A  number  of  paroled  men  came  into  our  grove 
where  they  sat  under  the  trees  to  empty  the  cartridges 
they  had  seized.  Confederate  money  is  of  no  more 
use  now  than  so  much  waste  paper,  but  by  filling  their 
canteens  with  powder  they  can  trade  it  off  along  the 
road  for  provisions.  They  scattered  lead  and  car- 
tridges all  over  the  ground.  Marshall  went  out  after 
they  left  and  picked  up  enough  to  last  him  for  years. 
The  balls  do  not  fit  his  gun,  but  he  can  remold  them 
and  draw  the  powder  out  of  the  cartridges  to  shoot 
with.  I  am  uneasy  at  having  so  much  explosive  ma- 
terial in  the  house,  especially  when  I  consider  the 
careless  manner  in  which  we  have  to  live.  There  is 
so  much  company  and  so  much  to  do  that  even  the 
servants  hardly  have  time  to  eat.  I  never  lived  in 
such  excitement  and  confusion  in  my  life.  Thousands 
of  people  pass  through  Washington  every  day,  and 
our  house  is  like  a  free  hotel;  father  welcomes  every- 
body as  long  as  there  is  a  square  foot  of  vacant  space 
under  his  roof.  Meeting  all  these  pleasant  people  is 
the  one  compensation  of  this  dismal  time,  and  I  don't 
know  how  I  shall  exist  when  they  have  all  gone  their 
ways,  and  we  settle  down  in  the  mournful  quiet  of  sub- 
jugation. Besides  the  old  friends  that  are  turning  up 
every  day,  there  is  a  continual  stream  of  new  faces 
crossing  my  path,  and  I  make  some  pleasant  acquaint- 
ance or  form  some  new  friendship  every  day.  The 
sad  part  of  it  is  that  the  most  of  them  I  will  probably 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  197 

never  meet  again,  and  if  I  should,  where,  and  how? 
What  will  they  be?  What  will  I  be?  These  are 
portentous  questions  in  such  a  time  as  this. 

We  had  a  larger  company  to  dinner  to-day  than 
usual,  but  no  one  that  specially  interested  me.  In 
the  afternoon  came  a  poor  soldier  from  Abbeville,  with 
a  message  from  Garnett  that  he  was  there,  waiting 
for  father  to  send  the  carriage  to  bring  him  home. 
He  sat  on  the  soft  grass  before  the  door,  and  we  fed 
him  on  sorghum  cake  and  milk,  the  only  things  we 
had  to  offer.  I  am  glad  the  cows  have  not  been  eman- 
cipated, for  the  soldiers  always  beg  for  milk;  I  never 
saw  one  that  was  not  eager  for  it  at  any  time.  After 
the  soldier,  Ed  Napier  came  in,  who  was  a  captain  in 
Garnett's  battalion  and  was  taken  prisoner  with  him. 
He  says  that  Garnett  covered  himself  with  glory;  even 
the  Yankees  spoke  of  his  gallantry  and  admired  him. 

It  seems  as  if  all  the  people  I  ever  heard  of,  or  never 
heard  of,  either,  for  that  matter,  are  passing  through 
Washington.  Some  of  our  friends  pass  on  without 
stopping  to  see  us  because  they  say  they  are  too  ragged 
and  dirty  to  show  themselves.  Poor  fellows !  if  they 
only  knew  how  honorable  rags  and  dirt  are  now,  in 
our  eyes,  when  endured  in  the  service  of  their  country, 
they  would  not  be  ashamed  of  them.  The  son  of  the 
richest  man  in  New  Orleans  trudged  through  the  other 
day,  with  no  coat  to  his  back,  no  shoes  on  his  feet. 
The  town  is  full  of  celebrities,  and  many  poor  fugi- 
tives, whose  necks  are  in  danger,  meet  here  to  concert 


198      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

plans  for  escape,  and  I  put  it  in  my  prayers  every 
night  that  they  may  be  successful.  Gen.  Wigfall 
started  for  the  West  some  days  ago,  but  his  mules 
were  stolen,  and  he  had  to  return.  He  is  frantic,  they 
say,  with  rage  and  disappointment.  Gen.  Toombs 
left  to-night,  but  old  Governor  Brown,  it  is  said,  has 
determined  not  to  desert  his  post.  I  am  glad  he  has 
done  something  to  deserve  respect,  and  hope  he  may 
get  off  yet,  as  soon  as  the  Yankees  appoint  a  military 
governor.  Clement  Clay  is  believed  to  be  well  on  his 
way  to  the  Trans-Mississippi,  the  Land  of  Promise 
now,  or  rather  the  City  of  Refuge  from  which  it  is 
hoped  a  door  of  escape  may  be  found  to  Mexico  or 
Cuba.  The  most  terrible  part  of  the  war  is  now  to 
come,  the  "  Bloody  Assizes."  "  Kirke's  Lambs,"  in 
the  shape  of  Yankee  troopers,  are  closing  in  upon  us; 
our  own  disbanded  armies,  ragged,  starving,  hopeless, 
reckless,  are  roaming  about  without  order  or  leaders, 
making  their  way  to  their  far-off  homes  as  best  they 
can.  The  props  that  held  society  up  are  broken. 
Everything  is  in  a  state  of  disorganization  and  tumult. 
We  have  no  currency,  no  law  save  the  primitive  code 
that  might  makes  right.  We  are  in  a  transition  state 
from  war  to  subjugation,  and  it  is  far  worse  than 
was  the  transition  from  peace  to  war.  The  suspense 
and  anxiety  in  which  we  live  are  terrible. 

May  3,  Wednesday. — Fred  started  for  Abbeville  in 
the  carriage  to  bring  Garnett  home.  We  hear  now 
that  the  Yankees  are  in  Abbeville,  and,  if  so,  I  am 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  199 

afraid  they  will  take  the  horses  away  and  then  I  don't 
know  how  Garnett  will  get  home.  They  are  father's 
carriage  horses,  and  we  would  be  in  a  sad  plight  with 
no  way  to  ride.  Our  cavalry  are  playing  havoc  with 
stock  all  through  the  country.  The  Texans  are  espe- 
cially noted  in  this  respect.  They  have  so  far  to  go 
that  the  temptation  is  greater  in  their  case.  There  is 
hardly  a  planter  in  Wilkes  County  who  has  not  lost 
one  or  more  of  his  working  animals  since  they  began 
to  pass  through.  They  seize  horses,  even  when  they 
are  already  well-mounted,  and  trade  them  off.  They 
broke  into  Mr.  Ben  Bowdre's  stable  and  took  posses- 
sion of  his  carriage  horses,  and  helped  themselves  to 
two  from  the  buggies  of  quiet  citizens  on  the  square. 
Almost  everybody  I  know  has  had  horses  stolen  or 
violently  taken  from  him.  I  was  walking  with  Dr. 
Sale  in  the  street  yesterday  evening,  and  a  soldier 
passed  us  leading  a  mule,  while  the  rightful  owner 
followed  after,  wasting  breath  in  useless  remon- 
strances. As  they  passed  us,  the  soldier  called  out: 
"  A  man  that's  going  to  Texas  must  have  a  mule  to 
ride,  don't  you  think  so,  lady  ?  "  I  made  no  answer, 
Dr.  Sale  gave  a  doubtful  assent.  It  is  astonishing 
what  a  demoralizing  influence  association  with  horses 
seems  to  exercise  over  the  human  race.  Put  a  man 
on  horseback  and  his  next  idea  is  to  play  the  bully 
or  to  steal  something.  We  had  an  instance  of  ill- 
behavior  at  our  house  last  night — the  first  and  only 
one  that  has   occurred   among  the   hundreds — thou- 


200     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

sands,  I  might  almost  say,  that  have  stopped  at  our 
door.  Our  back  yard  and  kitchen  were  filled  all  day 
with  parties  of  soldiers  coming  to  get  their  rations 
cooked,  or  to  ask  for  something  to  eat.  Mother  kept 
two  servants  hard  at  work,  cooking  for  them.  While 
we  were  at  supper,  a  squad  of  a  dozen  or  more  cavalry- 
men rode  up  and  asked  for  a  meal.  Every  seat  at  the 
table  was  filled,  and  some  of  the  family  waiting  be- 
cause there  was  no  room  for  us,  so  mother  told 
mammy  to  set  a  table  for  them  on  the  front  piazza, 
and  serve  them  with  such  as  we  had  ourselves — which 
was  nothing  to  brag  on,  I  must  own.  They  were  so 
incensed  at  not  being  invited  into  the  house  that 
mammy  says  they  cursed  her  and  said  Judge  Andrews 

was  a  d d  old  aristocrat,  and  deserved  to  have  his 

house  burned  down.  I  suppose  they  were  drunk,  or 
stragglers  from  some  of  the  conscript  regiments  en- 
rolled after  the  flower  of  our  armies  had  been  deci- 
mated in  the  great  battles. 

We  had  a  good  laugh  on  Capt.  Irwin  this  morning. 
He  is  counting  on  the  sale  of  his  horse  for  money  to 
carry  him  home,  and  seems  to  imagine  that  every  man 
in  a  cavalry  uniform  is  a  horse  thief  bent  on  capturing 
his  little  nag.  A  Capt.  Morton,  of  the  cavalry,  called 
here  after  breakfast,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
friends,  and  our  dear  little  captain  immediately  ran  out 
bare-headed,  to  stand  guard  over  his  charger.  I  don't 
know  which  laughed  most  when  the  situation  was  ex- 
plained.    Capt.  Palfrey  and  Capt.  Swett,  of  Gen.  El- 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  201 

zey's  staff,  called  later  to  bid  us  good-by.  They  have 
no  money,  but  each  was  provided  with  a  card  of  but- 
tons with  which  they  count  on  buying  a  meal  or  two 
on  the  way.  Cousin  Liza  added  to  their  store  a  paper 
of  pins  and  Cora  another  card  of  buttons.  We  laughed 
very  much  at  this  new  kind  of  currency. 

About  noon  the  town  was  thrown  into  the  wildest 
excitement  by  the  arrival  of  President  Davis.  He  is 
traveling  with  a  large  escort  of  cavalry,  a  very  im- 
prudent thing  for  a  man  in  his  position  to  do,  especially 
now  that  Johnston  has  surrendered,  and  the  fact  that 
they  are  all  going  in  the  same  direction  to  their  homes 
is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  them  together.  He  rode 
into  town  ahead  of  his  escort,  and  as  he  was  passing  by 
the  bank,  where  the  Elzeys  board,  the  general  and 
several  other  gentlemen  were  sitting  on  the  front  porch, 
and  the  instant  they  recognized  him  they  took  off  their 
hats  and  received  him  with  every  mark  of  respect  due 
the  president  of  a  brave  people.  When  he  reined  in 
his  horse,  all  the  staff  who  were  present  advanced  to 
hold  the  reins  and  assist  him  to  dismount,  while  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Robertson  hastened  to  offer  the  hospitality  of 
their  home.  About  forty  of  his  immediate  personal 
friends  and  attendants  were  with  him,  and  they  were 
all  half-starved,  having  tasted  nothing  for  twenty-four 
hours.  Capt.  Irwin  came  running  home  in  great  haste 
to  ask  mother  to  send  them  something  to  eat,  as  it  was 
reported  the  Yankees  were  approaching  the  town  from 

two  opposite  directions  closing  in  upon  the  President, 
14 


202      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

and  it  was  necessary  to  hurry  him  off  at  once.  There 
was  not  so  much  as  a  crust  of  bread  in  our  house,  every- 
thing available  having  been  given  to  soldiers.  There 
was  some  bread  in  the  kitchen  that  had  just  been  baked 
for  a  party  of  soldiers,  but  they  were  willing  to  wait, 
and  I  begged  some  milk  from  Aunt  Sallie,  and  by  add- 
ing to  these  our  own  dinner  as  soon  as  Emily  could 
finish  cooking  it,  we  contrived  to  get  together  a  very 
respectable  lunch.  We  had  just  sent  it  off  when  the 
president's  escort  came  in,  followed  by  couriers  who 
brought  the  comforting  assurance  that  it  was  a  false 
alarm  about  the  enemy  being  so  near.  By  this  time 
the  president's  arrival  had  become  generally  known, 
and  people  began  flocking  to  see  him;  but  he  went  to 
bed  almost  as  soon  as  he  got  into  the  house,  and  Mrs. 
Elzey  would  not  let  him  be  waked.  One  of  his  friends, 
Col.  Thorburne,  came  to  our  house  and  went  right  to 
bed  and  slept  fourteen  hours  on  a  stretch.  The  party 
are  all  worn  out  and  half-dead  for  sleep.  They  travel 
mostly  at  night,  and  have  been  in  the  saddle  for  three 
nights  in  succession.  Mrs.  Elzey  says  that  Mr.  Davis 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  aware  of  the  real  danger 
of  his  situation  until  he  came  to  Washington,  where 
some  of  his  friends  gave  him  a  serious  talk,  and  ad- 
vised him  to  travel  with  more  secrecy  and  dispatch 
than  he  has  been  using. 

Mr.  Reagan  and  Mr.  Mallory  are  also  in  town,  and 
Gen.  Toombs  has  returned,  having  encountered  danger 
ahead,  I  fear.     Judge  Crump  is  back  too,  with  his  Con- 


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OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  203 

federate  treasury,  containing,  it  is  said,  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  specie.  He  is  staying  at  our  house, 
but  the  treasure  is  thought  to  be  stored  in  the  vault  at 
the  bank.  It  will  hardly  be  necessary  for  him  to  leave 
the  country,  but  his  friends  advise  him  to  keep  in  the 
shade  for  a  time.  If  the  Yankees  once  get  scent  of 
money,  they  will  be  sure  to  ferret  it  out.  They  have 
already  begun  their  reign  of  terror  in  Richmond,  by 
arresting  many  of  the  prominent  citizens.  Judge 
Crump  is  in  a  state  of  distraction  about  his  poor  little 
wandering  exchequer,  which  seems  to  stand  an  even 
chance  between  the  Scylla  of  our  own  hungry  cavalry 
and  the  Charybdis  of  Yankee  cupidity.  I  wish  it  could 
all  be  divided  among  the  men  whose  neqks  are  in  dan- 
ger, to  assist  them  in  getting  out  of  the  country,  but  I 
don't  suppose  one  of  them  would  touch  it.  Anything 
would  be  preferable  to  letting  the  Yankees  get  it. 

Among  the  stream  of  travelers  pouring  through 
Washington,  my  old  friend,  Dr.  Cromwell,  has  turned 
up,  and  is  going  to  spend  several  days  with  us.  Capt. 
Napier,  Col.  Walter  Weems,  Capt.  Shaler  Smith,  and 
Mr.  Hallam  ate  supper  with  us,  but  we  had  no  sleeping 
room  to  offer  them  except  the  grass  under  the  trees  in 
the  grove.  Capt.  Smith  and  Mr.  Hallam  are  Ken- 
tuckians,  and  bound  for  that  illusive  land  of  hope,  the 
Trans-Mississippi.  They  still  believe  the  battle  of 
Southern  independence  will  be  fought  out  there  and 
won.  If  faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  can  move 
mountains,  what  ought  not  faith  like  this  to  accomplish  ! 


204      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Mr.  Hallam  is  a  high-spirited  young  fellow,  and  re- 
minds me  of  the  way  we  all  used  to  talk  and  feel  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  I  believe  he  thinks  he  could 
fight  the  whole  Yankee  nation  now,  single-handed,  and 
whip  them,  too.  He  is  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  and 
only  a  second  lieutenant,  yet,  as  he  gravely  informed 
me,  is  now  the  chief  ordnance  officer  of  the  Confed- 
erate army.  He  was  taken  prisoner  and  made  his 
escape  without  being  paroled,  and  since  the  surrender 
of  Lee's  and  Johnston's  armies,  he  really  is,  it  seems, 
the  ranking  ordnance  officer  in  the  poor  little  remnant 
that  is  still  fixing  its  hope  on  the  Trans-Mississippi. 
They  spent  the  night  in  the  grove,  where  they  could 
watch  their  horses.  It  was  dreadful  that  we  had  not 
even  stable  room  to  offer  them,  but  every  place  in  this 
establishment  that  can  accommodate  man  or  beast  was 
already  occupied. 

May  4,  Thursday. — I  am  in  such  a  state  of  excite- 
ment that  I  can  do  nothing  but  spend  my  time,  like  the 
Athenians  of  old,  in  either  hearing  or  telling  some  new 
thing.  I  sat  under  the  cedar  trees  by  the  street  gate 
nearly  all  the  morning,  with  Metta  and  Cousin  Liza, 
watching  the  stream  of  human  life  flow  by,  and  keeping 
guard  over  the  horses  of  some  soldier  friends  that  had 
left  them  grazing  on  the  lawn.  Father  and  Cora  went 
to  call  on  the  President,  and  in  spite  of  his  prejudice 
against  everybody  and  everything  connected  with  se- 
cession, father  says  his  manner  was  so  calm  and  digni- 
fied that  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  man.     Crowds 


OF   A   GEORGIA    GIRL  205 

of  people  flocked  to  see  him,  and  nearly  all  were  melted 
to  tears.  Gen.  Elzey  pretended  to  have  dust  in  his 
eyes  and  Mrs.  Elzey  blubbered  outright,  exclaiming  all 
the  while,  in  her  impulsive  way :  "  Oh,  I  am  such  a  fool 
to  be  crying,  but  I  can't  help  it !  "  When  she  was 
telling  me  about  it  afterwards,  she  said  she  could  not 
stay  in  the  room  with  him  yesterday  evening,  because 
she  couldn't  help  crying,  and  she  was  ashamed  for  the 
people  who  called  to  see  her  looking  so  ugly,  with  her 
eyes  and  nose  red.  She  says  that  at  night,  after  the 
crowd  left,  there  was  a  private  meeting  in  his  room, 
where  Reagan  and  Mallory  and  other  high  officials 
were  present,  and  again  early  in  the  morning  there 
were  other  confabulations  before  they  all  scattered 
and  went  their  ways — and  this,  I  suppose,  is  the  end 
of  the  Confederacy.  Then  she  made  me  laugh  by  tell- 
ing some  ludicrous  things  that  happened  while  the 
crowd  was  calling.  .  .  .  It  is  strange  how  closely 
interwoven  tragedy  and  comedy  are  in  life. 

The  people  of  the  village  sent  so  many  good  things 
for  the  President  to  eat,  that  an  ogre  couldn't  have 
devoured  them  all,  and  he  left  many  little  delicacies, 
besides  giving  away  a  number  of  his  personal  effects, 
to  people  who  had  been  kind  to  him.  He  requested 
that  one  package  be  sent  to  mother,  which,  if  it  ever 
comes,  must  be  kept  as  an  heirloom  in  the  family.  I 
don't  suppose  he  knows  what  strong  Unionists  father 
and  mother  have  always  been,  but  for  all  that  I  am 
sure  they  would  be  as  ready  to  help  him  now,  if  they 


206      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

could,  as  the  hottest  rebel  among  us.  I  was  not 
ashamed  of  father's  being  a  Union  man  when  his  was 
the  down-trodden,  persecuted  party;  but  now,  when 
our  country  is  down-trodden,  the  Union  means  some- 
thing very  different  from  what  it  did  four  years  ago. 
It  is  a  great  grief  and  mortification  to  me  that  he  sticks 
to  that  wicked  old  tyranny  still,  but  he  is  a  Southerner 
and  a  gentleman,  in  spite  of  his  politics,  and  at  any 
rate  nobody  can  accuse  him  of  self-interest,  for  he  has 
sacrificed  as  much  in  the  war  as  any  other  private 
citizen  I  know,  except  those  whose  children  have  been 
killed.  His  sons,  all  but  little  Marshall,  have  been  in 
the  army  since  the  very  first  gun — in  fact,  Garnett  was 
the  first  man  to  volunteer  from  the  county,  and  it  is 
through  the  mercy  of  God  and  not  of  his  beloved 
Union  that  they  have  come  back  alive.  Then,  he  has 
lost  not  only  his  negroes,  like  everybody  else,  but  his 
land,  too. 

The  President  left  town  about  ten  o'clock,  with  a 
single  companion,  his  unruly  cavalry  escort  having 
gone  on  before.  He  travels  sometimes  with  them, 
sometimes  before,  sometimes  behind,  never  permitting 
his  precise  location  to  be  known.  Generals  Bragg  and 
Breckinridge  are  in  the  village,  with  a  host  of  minor 
celebrities.  Gen.  Breckinridge  is  called  the  handsom- 
est man  in  the  Confederate  army,  and  Bragg  might 
well  be  called  the  ugliest.  I  saw  him  at  Mrs.  Vickers's, 
where  he  is  staying,  and  he  looks  like  an  old  porcupine. 
I  never  was  a  special  admirer  of  his,  though  it  would 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  207 

be  a  good  thing  if  some  of  his  stringent  views  about 
discipline  could  be  put  into  effect  just  now — if  dis- 
cipline were  possible  among  men  without  a  leader, 
without  a  country,  without  a  hope.  The  army  is 
practically  disbanded,  and  citizens,  as  well  as  soldiers, 
thoroughly  demoralized.  It  has  gotten  to  be  pretty 
much  a  game  of  grab  with  us  all;  every  man  for  him- 
self and  the  Devil  (or  the  Yankees,  which  amounts  to 
the  same  thing)  take  the  hindmost.  Nearly  all  gov- 
ernment teams  have  been  seized  and  driven  out  of 
town  by  irresponsibile  parties — indeed,  there  seems  to 
be  nobody  responsible  for  anything  any  longer.  Gen. 
Elzey's  two  ambulances  were  taken  last  night,  so  that 
Capt.  Palfrey  and  Capt.  Swett  are  left  in  the  lurch, 
and  will  have  to  make  their  way  home  by  boat  and 
rail,  or  afoot,  as  best  they  can. 

Large  numbers  of  cavalry  passed  through  town  dur- 
ing the  day.  A  solid,  unbroken  stream  of  them  poured 
past  our  street  gate  for  two  hours,  many  of  them  lead- 
ing extra  horses.  They  raised  such  clouds  of  dust 
that  it  looked  as  if  a  yellow  fog  had  settled  over  our 
grove.  Duke's  division  threatened  to  plunder  the 
treasury,  so  that  Gen.  Breckinridge  had  to  open  it  and 
pay  them  a  small  part  of  their  stipend  in  specie. 
Others  put  in  a  claim  too,  and  some  deserving  men  got 
a  few  dollars.  Capt.  Smith  and  Mr.  Hallam  called  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  latter  showed  me  ninety  dollars 
in  gold,  which  is  all  that  he  has  received  for  four  years 
of  service.     I  don't  see  what  better  could  be  done  with 


208      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  money  than  to  pay  it  all  out  to  the  soldiers  of  the 
Confederacy  before  the  Yankees  gobble  it  up. 

While  we  were  in  the  parlor  with  these  and  other 
visitors,  the  carriage  drove  up  with  Fred  and  Garnett 
and  Garnett's  "  galvanized "  attendant,  Gobin.  As 
soon  as  I  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  coming  up  the 
avenue,  I  ran  to  one  of  the  front  windows,  and  when 
I  recognized  our  carriage,  Metta,  Cora,  and  I  tore  hel- 
ter-skelter out  of  the  house  to  meet  them.  Garnett 
looks  very  thin  and  pale.  The  saber  cuts  on  his  head 
are  nearly  healed,  but  the  wound  in  his  shoulder  is 
still  very  painful.  His  fingers  are  partially  paralyzed 
from  it,  but  I  hope  not  permanently.  Gobin  seems 
attached  to  him  and  dresses  his  wounds  carefully.  He 
is  an  Irish  Yankee,  deserted,  and  came  across  the  lines 
to  keep  from  fighting,  but  was  thrown  into  prison  and 
only  got  out  by  enlisting  in  a  "  galvanized  "  regiment. 
I  wonder  how  many  of  the  patriots  in  the  Union  army 
have  the  same  unsavory  record!  He  is  an  incon- 
venient person  to  have  about  the  house,  anyway, 
for  he  is  no  better  than  a  servant,  and  yet  we  can't 
put  him  with  the  negroes.  Garnett  says  the  report 
about  his  galvanized  troops  having  behaved  badly 
in  the  battle  was  a  slander.  They  fought  splendidly, 
he  says,  and  were  devoted  to  their  officers.  If  the 
war  had  lasted  longer,  he  thinks  he  could  have  made 
a  fine  regiment  out  of  them,  but  somehow  I  can't  feel 
anything  but  contempt  for  that  sort  of  men,  nor  put 
any  faith  in  them. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  209 

Aunt  Sallie  invited  Mr.  Habersham  Adams,  her 
pastor,  and  his  wife,  to  dinner,  and  Cousin  Liza,  Mary 
Day,  Cora,  Metta,  and  me,  to  help  them  eat  it.  She 
had  such  a  dinner  as  good  old  Methodist  ladies  know 
how  to  get  up  for  their  preachers,  though  where  all  the 
good  things  came  from,  Heaven  only  knows.  She 
must  have  been  hoarding  them  for  months.  We  ate 
as  only  hungry  Rebs  can,  that  have  been  half-starved 
for  weeks,  and  expect  to  starve  the  rest  of  our  days. 
We  have  no  kind  of  meat  in  our  house  but  ham  and 
bacon,  and  have  to  eat  hominy  instead  of  rice,  at 
dinner.  Sometimes  we  get  a  few  vegetables  out  of 
the  garden,  but  everything  has  been  so  stripped  to  feed 
the  soldiers,  that  we  never  have  enough  to  spread  a 
respectable  meal  before  the  large  number  of  guests, 
expected  and  unexpected,  who  sit  down  to  our  table 
every  day.  In  spite  of  all  we  can  do,  there  is  a  look 
of  scantiness  about  the  table  that  makes  people  afraid 
to  eat  as  much  as  they  want — and  the  dreadful  things 
we  have  to  give  them,  at  that!  Cornfield  peas  have 
been  our  staple  diet  for  the  last  ten  days.  Mother  has 
them  cooked  in  every  variety  of  style  she  ever  heard  of, 
but  they  are  cornfield  peas  still.  All  this  would  have 
been  horribly  mortifying  a  year  or  two  ago,  but  every- 
body knows  how  it  is  now,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  even 
cornfield  peas  to  share  with  the  soldiers.  Three  cavalry 
officers  ate  dinner  at  the  house  while  we  were  at  Aunt 
Sallie's.  Mother  says  they  were  evidently  gentlemen, 
but  they  were  so  ragged  and  dirty  that  she  thought  the 


210      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

poor  fellows  did  not  like  to  give  their  names.  They 
didn't  introduce  themselves,  and  she  didn't  ask  who  they 
were.  Poor  Henry  is  in  the  same  plight,  somewhere, 
I  reckon.  The  cavalry  are  not  popular  about  here  just 
now ;  everybody  is  crying  out  against  them,  even  their 
own  officers.  On  their  way  from  Abbeville,  Fred  and 
Garnett  met  a  messenger  with  a  flag  of  truce,  which 
had  been  sent  out  by  some  (pretended)  cavalrymen 
who  had  plundered  a  government  specie  wagon  at  the 
Savannah  River  and  professed  to  be  hunting  for  Yan- 
kees to  whom  they  might  surrender.  Garnett  says  he 
does  not  think  there  are  any  Yanks  within  forty  miles 
of  Abbeville,  though  as  the  "  grape  vine  "  is  our  only 
telegraph,  we  know  nothing  with  certainty.  Boys  and 
negroes  and  sportsmen  are  taking  advantage  of  the 
ammunition  scattered  broadcast  by  the  pillaging  of  the 
ordnance  stores,  to  indulge  in  fireworks  of  every  de- 
scription, and  there  is  so  much  shooting  going  on  all 
around  town  that  we  wouldn't  know  it  if  a  battle  were 
being  fought.  Capt.  Irwin  came  near  being  killed  this 
afternoon  by  a  stray  minie  ball  shot  by  some  careless 
person.  The  R.R.  depot  is  in  danger  of  being  blown 
up  by  the  quantities  of  gunpowder  scattered  about 
there,  mixed  up  with  percussion  caps.  Fred  says  that 
when  he  came  up  from  Augusta  the  other  day,  the  rail- 
road between  here  and  Barnett  was  strewn  with  loose 
cartridges  and  empty  canteens  that  the  soldiers  had 
thrown  out  of  the  car  windows. 

I  have  so  little  time  for  writing  that  I  make  a  dread- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  211 

ful  mess  of  these  pages.  I  can  hardly  ever  write 
fifteen  minutes  at  a  time  without  interruption.  Some- 
times I  break  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  do 
not  return  to  it  for  hours,  and  so  I  am  apt  to  get  every- 
thing into  a  jumble.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  we  are 
living  in  such  a  state  of  hurry  and  excitement  that  half 
the  time  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  telling  the  truth 
or  not.  Mother  says  that  she  will  have  to  turn  the 
library  into  a  bedroom  if  we  continue  to  have  so  much 
company,  and  then  I  shall  have  no  quiet  place  to  go  to, 
and  still  less  time  to  myself.  It  seems  that  the  more 
I  have  to  say,  the  less  time  I  have  to  say  it  in.  From 
breakfast  till  midnight  I  am  engaged  nearly  all  the 
time  with  company,  so  that  the  history  of  each  day 
has  to  be  written  mostly  in  the  spare  moments  I  can 
steal  before  breakfast  on  the  next,  and  sometimes  I 
can  only  scratch  down  a  few  lines  to  be  written  out  at 
length  whenever  I  can  find  the  time.  I  have  been  keep- 
ing this  diary  so  long  and  through  so  many  difficulties 
and  interruptions  that  it  would  be  like  losing  an  old 
friend  if  I  were  to  discontinue  it.  I  can  tell  it  what 
I  can  say  to  no  one  else,  not  even  to  Metta.  .  .  . 
But  after  all,  I  enjoy  the  rush  and  excitement 
famously.  Mett  says  that  she  don't  enjoy  a  man's 
society,  no  matter  how  nice  he  is,  till  she  knows  him 
well,  but  I  confess  that  I  like  change  and  variety.  A 
man  that  I  know  nothing  about — provided,  of  course, 
he  is  a  gentleman — is  a  great  deal  more  interesting  to 
me  than  the  people  I  see  every  day,  just  because  there 


212      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

is  something  to  find  out ;  people  get  to  be  commonplace 
when  you  know  them  too  well. 

May  5,  Friday. — It  has  come  at  last — what  we  have 
been  dreading  and  expecting  so  long — what  has  caused 
so  many  panics  and  false  alarms — but  it  is  no  false 
alarm  this  time;  the  Yankees  are  actually  in  Washing- 
ton. Before  we  were  out  of  bed  a  courier  came  in 
with  news  that  Kirke — name  of  ill  omen — was  only 
seven  miles  from  town,  plundering  and  devastating  the 
country.  Father  hid  the  silver  and  what  little  coin  he 
had  in  the  house,  but  no  other  precautions  were  taken. 
They  have  cried  "  wolf  "  so  often  that  we  didn't  pay 
much  attention  to  it,  and  besides,  what  could  we  do, 
anyway?  After  dinner  we  all  went  to  our  rooms  as 
usual,  and  I  sat  down  to  write.  Presently  some  one 
knocked  at  my  door  and  said :  "  The  Yankees  have 
come,  and  are  camped  in  Will  Pope's  grove."  I  paid 
no  attention  and  went  on  quietly  with  my  writing. 
Later,  I  dressed  and  went  down  to  the  library,  where 
Dr.  Cromwell  was  waiting  for  me,  and  asked  me  to  go 
with  him  to  call  on  Annie  Pope.  We  found  the  streets 
deserted ;  not  a  soldier,  not  a  straggler  did  we  see.  The 
silence  of  death  reigned  where  a  few  hours  ago  all  was 
stir  and  bustle — and  it  is  the  death  of  our  liberty. 
After  the  excitement  of  the  last  few  days,  the  stillness 
was  painful,  oppressive.  I  thought  of  Chateaubriand's 
famous  passage :  "  Lorsque  dans  le  silence  de  l'abjec- 
tion  "  &c.  News  of  the  odious  arrival  seems  to  have 
spread  like  a  secret  pestilence  through  the  country,  and 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  213 

travelers  avoid  the  tainted  spot.  I  suppose  the  re- 
turning soldiers  flank  us,  for  I  have  seen  none  on  the 
streets  to-day,  and  none  have  called  at  our  house.  The 
troops  that  are  here  came  from  Athens.  There  are 
about  sixty-five  white  men,  and  fifteen  negroes,  under 
the  command  of  a  Major  Wilcox.  They  say  that  they 
come  for  peace,  to  protect  us  from  our  own  lawless 
cavalry — to  protect  us,  indeed !  with  their  negro  troops, 
runaways  from  our  own  plantations !  I  would  rather 
be  skinned  and  eaten  by  wild  beasts  than  beholden  to 
them  for  such  protection.  As  they  were  marching 
through  town,  a  big  buck  negro  leading  a  raw-boned 
jade  is  said  to  have  made  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the 
procession.  Respectable  people  were  shut  up  in  their 
houses,  but  the  little  street  urchins  immediately  began 
to  sing,  when  they  saw  the  big  black  Sancho  and  his 
Rosinante : 


"  Yankee  Doodle  went  to  town  and  stole  a  little  pony ; 
He  stuck  a  feather  in  his  crown  and  called  him  Macaroni." 


They  followed  the  Yanks  nearly  to  their  camping 
ground  at  the  Mineral  Spring,  singing  and  jeering  at 
the  negroes,  and  strange  to  say,  the  Yankees  did  not 
offer  to  molest  them.  I  have  not  laid  eyes  on  one  of 
the  creatures  myself,  and  they  say  they  do  not  intend 
to  come  into  the  town  unless  to  put  down  disturbances 
— the  sweet,  peaceful  lambs !  They  never  sacked  Co- 
lumbia; they  never  burnt  Atlanta;  they  never  left  a 
black  trail  of  ruin  and  desolation  through  the  whole 


214      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

length  of  our  dear  old  Georgia!  No,  not  they!  I 
wonder  how  long  this  sugar  and  honey  policy  is  to 
continue.  They  deceive  no  one  with  their  Puritani- 
cal hypocrisy,  bringing"  our  own  runaway  negroes  here 
to  protect  us.  Next  thing  they  will  have  a  negro 
garrison  in  the  town  for  our  benefit.  Their  odious 
old  flag  has  not  yet  been  raised  in  the  village,  and  I 
pray  God  they  will  have  the  grace  to  spare  us  that 
insult,  at  least  until  Johnston's  army  has  all  passed 
through.  The  soldiers  will  soon  return  to  their  old 
route  of  travel,  and  there  is  no  telling  what  our  boys 
might  be  tempted  to  do  at  the  sight  of  that  emblem  of 
tyranny  on  the  old  courthouse  steeple,  where  once 
floated  the  "  lone  star  banner  "  that  Cora  and  I  made 
with  our  own  hands — the  first  rebel  flag  that  was  ever 
raised  in  Washington.  Henry  brought  us  the  cloth, 
and  we  made  it  on  the  sly  in  Cora's  room  at  night, 
hustling  it  under  the  bed,  if  a  footstep  came  near,  for 
fear  father  or  mother  might  catch  us  and  put  a  stop  to 
our  work.  It  would  break  my  heart  to  see  the  emblem 
of  our  slavery  floating  in  its  place.  Our  old  liberty 
pole  is  gone.  Some  of  the  Irvin  Artillery  went  one 
night  before  the  Yankees  came,  and  cut  it  down  and 
carried  it  off.  It  was  a  sad  night's  work,  but  there 
was  no  other  way  to  save  it  from  desecration. 

Gen.  Elzey,  Col.  Weems,  and  several  other  leading 
citizens  went  to  the  Yankee  camp  soon  after  they  ar- 
rived to  see  about  making  arrangements  for  feeding 
the  paroled  men  who  are  still  to  pass  through,  and  to 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  215 

settle  other  matters  of  public  interest.  It  was  reported 
that  father  went  with  them  to  surrender  the  town,  but 
it  was  a  slander ;  he  has  not  been  near  them.  Garnett's 
galvanized  Yank  immediately  fraternized  with  them, 
and  Garnett  is  going  to  send  him  away  to-morrow. 
Gen.  Elzey  looks  wretched,  and  we  all  feel  miserable 
enough. 

When  Capt.  Irwin  came  home  to  supper,  he  told  me 
that  he  had  been  trying  to  draw  forage  from  the  Con- 
federate stores  for  his  horse,  but  could  not  get  any 
because  it  was  all  to  be  turned  over  to  the  new  masters. 
He  was  so  angry  that  he  forgot  himself  and  let  out  a 
"  cuss  word  "  before  he  thought,  right  in  my  presence. 
And  I  wouldn't  let  him  apologize.  I  told  him  I  was 
glad  he  did  it,  because  I  couldn't  swear  myself  and  it 
was  a  relief  to  my  feelings  to  hear  somebody  else  do  it. 
While  we  were  talking,  old  Toby's  bark  announced  a 
visitor,  who  turned  out  to  be  Capt.  Hudson.  Metta 
brought  out  her  guitar,  and  she  and  Garnett  tried  to 
sing  a  little,  but  most  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  quiet 
conversation.  It  seemed  hard  to  realize,  as  we  sat 
there  talking  peacefully  in  the  soft  moonlight,  sur- 
rounded by  the  dear  old  Confederate  uniforms,  that 
the  enemy  is  actually  in  our  midst.  But  I  realized  it 
only  too  fully  when  I  heard  the  wearers  of  the  uni- 
forms talk.  They  do  not  whine  over  their  altered 
fortunes  and  ruined  prospects,  but  our  poor  ruined 
country,  the  slavery  and  degradation  to  which  it  is 
reduced — they  grow  pathetic  over  that.     We  have  a 


216      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

charming  circle  of  friends  round  us  now.  Judge 
Crump,  especially,  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  men 
I  ever  knew.  He  has  traveled  a  great  deal  and  I  was 
very  much  interested  in  his  account  of  Dickens's  wife, 
whom  he  knows  well.  He  says  that  she  is  altogether 
the  most  unattractive  woman  he  ever  met.  She  has  a 
yellowish,  cat-like  eye,  a  muddy  complexion,  dull, 
coarse  hair  of  an  undecided  color,  and  a  very  awkward 
person.  On  top  of  it  all  she  is,  he  says,  one  of  the  most 
intolerably  stupid  women  he  ever  met.  He  has  had  to 
entertain  her  for  hours  at  a  time  and  could  never  get 
an  idea  out  of  her  nor  one  into  her.  Think  of  such 
a  wife  for  Dickens! 

Porter  Alexander  has  got  home  and  brings  discour- 
aging reports  of  the  state  of  feeling  at  the  North. 
After  he  was  paroled  he  went  to  see  the  Brazilian 
minister  at  Washington  to  learn  what  the  chances  were 
of  getting  into  the  Brazilian  army.  He  says  he  met 
with  very  little  encouragement  and  had  to  hurry  away 
from  Washington  because,  since  Lincoln's  assassina- 
tion the  feeling  against  Southerners  has  grown  so 
bitter  that  he  didn't  think  it  safe  to  stay  there.  He 
says  the  generality  of  the  people  at  the  North  were 
disposed  to  receive  the  Confederate  officers  kindly,  but 
since  the  assassination  the  whole  country  is  embittered 
against  us — very  unjustly,  too,  for  they  have  no  right 
to  lay  upon  innocent  people  the  crazy  deed  of  a  mad- 
man. 

The  Yankee  papers  are  now  accusing  Mr.  Davis  and 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  217 

his  party  of  appropriating  all  the  money  in  the  Con- 
federate Treasury  to  their  own  use,  but  thank  Heaven, 
everybody  in  Washington  can  refute  that  slander.  The 
treasury  was  plundered  here,  in  our  midst,  and  I  saw 
some  of  the  gold,  with  my  own  eyes,  in  the  hands  of 
Confederate  soldiers — right  where  it  ought  to  be. 

The  talk  now  is,  judging  from  the  ease  with  which 
Breckinridge  was  allowed  to  slip  through  this  morning, 
that  the  military  authorities  are  conniving  at  the  escape 
of  Mr.  Davis.  Breckinridge,  when  he  found  that  the 
Philistines  were  about  to  be  upon  him,  used  a  carefully 
planned  stratagem  of  war  to  deceive  Wilcoxson,  by 
which  he  imagined  that  he  gained  time  to  destroy  his 
papers  and  give  him  the  slip,  while  in  reality,  they  say, 
the  Yanks  were  making  no  effort  to  detain  him,  and 
he  might  have  gone  openly  with  his  papers  unmolested. 
The  general  belief  is  that  Grant  and  the  military  men, 
even  Sherman,  are  not  anxious  for  the  ugly  job  of 
hanging  such  a  man  as  our  president,  and  are  quite 
willing  to  let  him  give  them  the  slip,  and  get  out  of  the 
country  if  he  can.  The  military  men,  who  do  the 
hard  and  cruel  things  in  war,  seem  to  be  more  merciful 
in  peace  than  the  politicians  who  stay  at  home  and  do 
the  talking. 


15 


218      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 


CHAPTER  V 

IN    THE    DUST    AND   ASHES    OF   DEFEAT 

May  6 — June  i,   1865 

Explanatory  Note. — The  circumstances  under  which 
this  part  of  the  diary  were  written  now  belong  to  the 
world's  history,  and  need  no  explanation  here.  The  bit- 
terness that  pervades  its  pages  may  seem  regrettable  to 
those  who  have  never  passed  through  the  like  experiences, 
but  if  the  reader  will  "  uncentury  "  himself  for  a  moment 
and  try  to  realize  the  position  of  the  old  slaveholders,  a 
proud  and  masterful  race,  on  seeing  bands  of  their  former 
slaves  marching  in  triumph  through  their  streets,  he  may 
perhaps  understand  our  feelings  sufficiently  to  admit  that 
they  were,  to  say  the  least,  not  unnatural. 

And  let  me  here  repeat  what  I  have  tried  to  make  clear 
from  the  beginning,  that  this  book  is  not  offered  to  the 
public  as  an  exposition  of  the  present  attitude  of  the 
writer  or  her  people,  nor  as  a  calm  and  impartial  history 
of  the  time  with  which  it  deals.  It  is  rather  to  be  com- 
pared to  one  of  those  fossil  relics  gathered  by  the  geologist 
from  the  wrecks  of  former  generations ;  a  simple  foot- 
print, perhaps,  or  a  vestige  of  a  bone,  which  yet,  imper- 
fect and  of  small  account  in  itself,  conveys  to  the  prac- 
ticed eye  a  clearer  knowledge  of  the  world  to  which  it 
belonged  than  volumes  of  learned  research. 

The  incident  about  the  flag  with  which  the  chapter 
opens,  and  other  similar  ones  related  further  on,  may  per- 
haps give  pain  to  some  brave  men  who  fought  with  honor 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  219 

under  it.  For  this  I  am  sorry,  but  the  truth  is  the  truth, 
and  if  the  flag  of  our  country  has  sometimes  been  dis- 
honored in  the  hands  of  unworthy  men,  there  is  all  the 
more  reason  why  the  sons  of  those  who  fought  honorably 
and  conscientiously  on  both  sides  should  unite  in  closer 
fellowship  to  wipe  out  the  stains  put  on  it  by  fratricidal 
hate,  and  see  that  the  light  of  its  stars  shall  never  again 
be  dimmed  by  any  act  that  the  heart  of  a  true  American 
cannot  be  proud  of. 


May  6,  Saturday. — The  mournful  silence  of  yester- 
day has  been  succeeded  by  noise  and  confusion  passing 
anything  we  have  yet  experienced.  Reinforcements 
have  joined  Wilcox,  and  large  numbers  of  Stoneman's 
and  Wilson's  cavalry  are  passing  through  on  their  way 
to  Augusta.  Confederate  soldiers,  too,  are  beginning 
to  come  by  this  route  again,  so  Washington  is  now  a 
thoroughfare  for  both  armies.  Our  troops  do  not  come 
in  such  numbers  as  formerly,  still  there  have  been  a 
great  many  on  the  streets  to-day.  About  noon,  two 
brigades  of  our  cavalry  passed  going  west,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  body  of  Yankees  went  by  going  east. 
There  were  several  companies  of  negroes  among  them, 
and  their  hateful  old  striped  rag  was  floating  in  tri- 
umph over  their  heads.  Cousin  Liza  turned  her  back 
on  it,  Cora  shook  her  fist  at  it,  and  I  was  so  enraged 
that  I  said  I  wished  the  wind  would  tear  it  to  flinders 
and  roll  it  in  the  dirt  till  it  was  black  all  over,  as  the 
colors  of  such  a  crew  ought  to  be.  Then  father  took 
me  by  the  shoulder  and  said  that  if  I  didn't  change  my 


220      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

way  of  talking  about  the  flag  of  my  country  he  would 
send  me  to  my  room  and  keep  me  there  a  week.  We 
had  never  known  anything  but  peace  and  security  and 
protection  under  that  flag,  he  said,  as  long  as  we  re- 
mained true  to  it.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  what  sort  of 
peace  and  protection  the  people  along  Sherman's  line 
of  march  had  found  under  it,  but  I  didn't  dare.  Father 
don't  often  say  much,  but  when  he  does  flare  up  like 
that,  we  all  know  we  have  got  to  hold  our  tongues  or 
get  out  of  the  way.  It  made  me  think  of  that  night 
when  Georgia  seceded.  What  would  father  have  done 
if  he  had  known  that  that  secession  flag  was  made  in 
his  house  ?  It  pinches  my  conscience,  sometimes,  when 
I  think  about  it.  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  for  a 
household  to  be  so  divided  in  politics  as  we  are !  Father 
sticks  to  the  Union  through  thick  and  thin,  and  mother 
sticks  to  father,  though  I  believe  she  is  more  than  half 
a  rebel  at  heart,  on  account  of  the  boys.  Fred  and 
Garnett  are  good  Confederates,  but  too  considerate  of 
father  to  say  much,  while  all  the  rest  of  us  are  red- 
hot  Rebs.  Garnett  is  the  coolest  head  in  the  family, 
and  Henry  the  hottest.  I  used  to  sympathize  with 
father  myself,  in  the  beginning,  for  it  did  seem  a  pity 
to  break  up  a  great  nation  about  a  parcel  of  African 
savages,  if  we  had  known  any  other  way  to  protect  our 
rights;  but  now,  since  the  Yankees  have  treated  us  so 
abominably,  burning  and  plundering  our  country  and 
bringing  a  gang  of  negro  soldiers  here  to  insult  us,  I 
don't  see  how  anybody  can  tolerate  the  sight  of  their 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  221 

odious  old  flag  again.  To  do  father  justice,  our  house 
is  so  far  from  the  street  that  he  couldn't  see  the  plunder 
with  which  the  wretches,  both  black  and  white,  were 
loaded,  but  Cousin  Mary  Cooper,  who  lives  right  on 
the  street,  opposite  our  gate,  told  us  that  she  saw  one 
white  man  with  a  silver  cake  basket  tied  to  the  pommel 
of  his  saddle,  and  nearly  all  of  them  had  stolen  articles 
dangling  from  the  front  of  their  saddles,  or  slung  on 
in  bags  behind.  And  yet,  they  blame  us  for  not  re- 
specting their  flag,  when  we  see  it  again  for  the  first 
time  in  four  years,  floating  over  scenes  like  this ! 

A  large  body  of  the  brigands  are  camped  back  of 
Aunty's  meadow,  and  have  actually  thrown  the  dear 
old  lady,  who  was  never  known  to  speak  a  cross  word 
to  anybody,  into  a  rage,  by  their  insolence.  Capt. 
Hudson  had  almost  to  kick  one  of  them  out  of  the 
house  before  he  could  get  him  to  move,  and  the  rascal 
cried  out,  as  he  went  down  the  steps :  "  I  thought  you 
Rebs  were  all  subjugated  now,  and  I  could  go  where  I 
pleased."  Another  taunted  her  by  saying:  "You 
have  got  plenty  of  slaves  to  wait  on  you  now,  but  you 
won't  have  them  long."  They  tried  to  buy  provisions 
of  her,  but  she  told  them  that  everything  she  had  to 
spare  was  for  our  own  soldiers,  and  would  not  let  them 
have  a  mouthful.  Mr.  Hull  [her  son-in-law]  had  to 
ask  for  a  guard  from  the  commanding  officer  to  pro- 
tect the  family.  They  have  their  patrols  all  over  the 
town,  and  I  can  hear  their  insolent  songs  and  laughter 
whenever  I  stop  talking  long  enough  to  listen.     Our 


222      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

house  is  so  far  back  from  the  street  that  we  suffer 
comparatively  little.  Two  men  in  blue  came  up  and 
asked  for  supper  while  we  were  sitting  on  the  piazza 
after  tea,  but  nobody  took  any  notice  of  them.  Mother 
had  been  so  busy  all  day  getting  up  extra  meals  for 
our  own  men,  and  was  so  utterly  fagged  out  that  she 
did  not  even  look  up  to  see  who  they  were.  We  didn't 
tell  her,  for  fear  father  might  hear  and  want  us  to  give 
them  something,  and  they  went  away.  Gen.  Yorke  is 
with  us  now,  and  a  body  of  his  men  are  camped  in  the 
grove.  He  is  a  rough  old  fellow,  but  has  a  brave 
record,  and  wears  an  empty  sleeve.  They  say  he  was 
the  richest  man  in  Louisiana  "  before  the  deluge  " — 
owned  30,000  acres  of  land  and  900  negroes,  besides 
plantations  in  Texas — and  now,  he  hasn't  money 
enough  to  pay  his  way  home.  He  is  very  fond  of 
cigarettes,  and  I  keep  both  him  and  Capt.  Hudson  sup- 
plied with  them.  The  captain  taught  me  how  to  roll 
them,  and  I  have  become  so  skilful  that  I  can  make 
them  like  we  used  to  knit  socks,  without  looking  at 
what  I  am  doing. 

Gen.  Elzey  called  after  tea,  and  I  failed  to  recognize 
him  at  first,  because  he  had  on  a  white  jacket,  and  there 
is  such  a  strange  mixture  of  Yanks  and  Rebs  in  town 
that  I  am  suspicious  of  every  man  who  doesn't  wear  a 
gray  coat.  The  moon  was  shining  in  my  eyes  and 
blinded  me  as  I  met  the  general  at  the  head  of  the 
steps,  and  I  kept  a  sour  face,  intended  for  a  possible 
Yankee  intruder,  till  he  caught  my  hand  and  spoke; 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  223 

then  wc  both  laughed.  Our  laughter,  however,  was 
short-lived ;  we  spent  a  miserable  evening  in  the  beauti- 
ful moonlight  that  we  knew  was  shining  on  the  ruin 
of  our  country.  Capt.  Irwin  made  heroic  efforts  to 
keep  up  his  spirits  and  cheer  the  rest  of  us,  but  even 
he  failed.  Gen.  Yorke,  too,  did  his  best  to  laugh  at 
our  miserable  little  jokes,  and  told  some  good  stories  of 
his  own,  but  they  fell  flat,  like  the  captain's.  Judge 
Crump  tried  to  talk  of  literature  and  art,  but  conversa- 
tion flagged  and  always  returned  to  the  same  miserable 
theme.  Gen.  Elzey  said  he  wished  that  he  had  been 
killed  in  battle.  He  says  that  this  is  the  most  miserable 
day  of  his  life,  and  he  looked  it.  It  is  very  hard  on 
the  West  Point  men,  for  they  don't  know  anything  but 
soldiering,  and  the  army  is  closed  to  them :  they  have 
no  career  before  them. 

There  is  a  brigade  of  Kentucky  cavalry  camped  out 
in  Mr.  Wiley's  grove,  and  some  fear  is  felt  of  a  colli- 
sion between  them  and  the  Yankees.  Some  of  them 
have  already  engaged  in  fist  fights  on  their  own  ac- 
count. I  wish  they  would  get  into  a  general  row,  for 
I  believe  the  Kentuckians  would  whip  them.  I  am 
just  exasperated  enough  to  be  reckless  as  to  conse- 
quences. Think  of  a  lot  of  negroes  being  brought  here 
to  play  the  master  over  us! 

I  was  walking  on  the  street  this  afternoon  with  Mr. 
Dodd  and  a  Lieut.  Sale,  from  Ark.,  when  we  met  three 
gorgeous  Yankee  officers,  flaunting  their  smart  new 
uniforms  in  the  faces  of  our  poor,  shabby  Rebs,  but  I 


224      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

would  not  even  look  their  way  till  they  had  passed  and 
couldn't  see  me.  Oh,  how  I  do  love  the  dear  old  Con- 
federate gray !  My  heart  sickens  to  think  that  soon  I 
shall  have  seen  the  last  of  it.  The  Confederate  officers 
who  have  been  stationed  here  are  leaving,  as  fast  as 
they  can  find  the  means,  for  their  homes,  or  for  the 
Trans-Mississippi,  where  some  of  them  still  base  their 
hopes.  Of  those  that  remain,  some  have  already  laid 
aside  their  uniforms  and  their  military  titles.  They 
say  they  are  not  going  to  wait  to  be  deprived  of  them 
at  the  command  of  a  Yankee. 

Dr.  Cromwell  left  this  morning  for  his  home  in 
Columbus.  He  has  a  horse  to  ride,  but  not  a  cent  of 
money  to  buy  provisions.  Cousin  Liza  gave  him  let- 
ters to  some  friends  of  hers  that  live  along  his  route, 
requesting  them  to  entertain  him.  He  and  Capt.  Irwin 
have  traced  out  a  relationship,  both  being  lineal  de- 
scendants of  the  famous  old  Lord  Protector.  How  it 
would  make  the  old  Puritan  snort,  if  he  could  rise  out 
of  his  grave  and  behold  two  of  his  descendants  stanch 
members  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  rollicking  cava- 
liers both,  fighting  for  the  South  against  the  Round- 
heads of  the  North !  Dr.  Cromwell  says  that  his  father 
bears  a  striking  likeness  to  the  portrait  of  old  Noll, 
barring  the  famous  wart  on  his  nose.  He  has  rela- 
tions in  Georgia  who  go  by  the  name  of  Crowell.  Pru- 
dence led  them  to  drop  the  m  while  making  the  voyage 
to  America,  and  they  have  never  taken  it  back,  into 
their  name. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  225 

While  we  were  at  dinner  Mrs.  Combs  [companion 
to  Aunt  Sallie]  came  rushing  in  to  say  that  there  was 
a  man  in  the  grove  trying  to  steal  one  of  father's  car- 
riage horses.  We  had  seen  three  horsemen  ride  to 
the  spring,  and  the  most  natural  thing  to  expect  was 
that  when  they  went  away,  some  of  our  own  horses 
would  be  missing.  The  gentlemen  all  grabbed  their 
pistols  and  went  out  to  meet  the  supposed  marauders, 
while  we  ladies  left  our  soup  to  get  cold  and  ranged 
ourselves  on  the  piazza  to  witness  the  combat.  But, 
oh,  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion !  not  a  shot  was 
fired.  The  three  cavalrymen  were  sleeping  quietly  in 
the  shade,  and  the  horse-thief  turned  out  to  be  nobody 
but  'Ginny  Dick  *  catching  the  pony  for  father. 

May  7,  Sunday. — I  went  to  the  Baptist  church  and 
heard  a  good  sermon  from  Mr.  Tupper  on  the  text : 
"  For  now  we  live  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight."  There 
was  not  a  word  that  could  give  the  Yankees  a  handle 
against  us,  yet  much  that  we  poor  rebels  could  draw 
comfort  from.  The  congregation  was  very  small,  and 
I  am  told  the  same  was  the  case  at  all  the  other 
churches,  people  not  caring  to  have  their  devotions  dis- 
turbed by  the  sight  of  the  "  abomination  of  desola- 
tion "  in  their  holy  places. 

The  streets  are  frightfully  dusty.     A  passing  car- 

*  Where  several  negroes  on  a  plantation  had  the  same  name,  it 
was  customary  to  distinguish  them  by  some  descriptive  epithet. 
For  instance,  among  my  father's  servants,  there  were  Long  Dick, 
Little  Dick,  Big  Dick,  and  'Ginny  Dick — the  last  of  whom  owed 
his  sobriquet  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  purchased  in  Virginia. 


226      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

riage  will  almost  suffocate  one.  When  the  first  batch 
of  Yankees  entered  Washington,  one  of  them  was 
heard  to  say :  "  We  have  been  hunting  for  this  little 
mudhole  the  last  six  months."  No  wonder  they  didn't 
succeed;  it  is  anything  but  a  mudhole  now. 

Fred  has  just  returned  from  Greensborough  [Ga.], 
where  he  went  to  look  after  some  horses  and  wagons 
of  Brother  Troup's  department,  but  both  had  been 
seized  by  our  soldiers.  I  am  glad  they  got  them  in- 
stead of  the  Yanks.  It  is  a  case  of  cheating  the  devil. 
He  says  the  Yankees  are  plundering  right  and  left 
around  Athens.  They  ran  a  train  off  the  track  on 
the  Athens  Branch,  and  robbed  the  passengers.  They 
have  not  given  any  trouble  in  Washington  to-day,  as 
the  greater  part  of  the  cavalry  that  came  to  town  on 
Saturday  have  passed  on,  and  the  garrison,  or  provost 
guard,  or  whatever  the  odious  thing  is  called,  are 
probably  afraid  to  be  too  obstreperous  while  so  many 
Confederate  troops  are  about.  They  have  taken  up 
their  quarters  in  the  courthouse  now,  but  have  not  yet 
raised  their  old  flaring  rag  on  the  spot  where  our  own 
brave  boys  placed  the  first  rebel  flag,  that  my  own 
hands  helped  to  make.  I  wish  our  troops  would  get 
into  a  fracas  with  them  and  thrash  them  out  of  town. 
Since  they  have  set  a  price  on  the  head  of  our  presi- 
dent, "  immortal  hate  and  study  of  revenge  "  have 
taken  possession  of  my  heart,  and  it  don't  make  me 
love  them  or,  their  detestable  old  flag  any  better  because 
I  have  to  keep  my  feelings  pent  up.     Father  won't 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  227 

let  me  say  anything  against  the  old  flag  in  his  presence, 
but  he  can't  keep  me  from  thinking  and  writing  what 
I  please.  I  believe  I  would  burst  sometimes,  if  I  didn't 
have  this  safety-valve.  He  may  talk  about  the  way 
Union  men  were  suppressed  when  they  tried  to  oppose 
secession,  but  now,  the  Yankees  are  denying  us  not 
only  liberty  of  speech  and  of  the  press,  but  even  of 
prayer,  forcing  the  ministers  in  our  Church  to  read  the 
prayer  for  their  old  renegade  of  a  president  and  those 
other  odious  persons  "  in  authority  "  at  Washington. 
Well,  as  Bishop  Elliot  says,  I  don't  know  anybody 
that  needs  it  more. 

But  even  if  father  does  stick  to  the  Union,  no- 
body can  accuse  him  of  being  a  sycophant  or  say  that 
he  is  not  honest  in  his  opinions.  He  was  no  less  a 
Union  man  in  the  days  of  persecution  and  danger 
for  his  side  than  he  is  now.  And  though  he  still 
holds  to  his  love  for  the  Union — if  there  is  any  such 
thing — he  has  made  no  indecent  haste,  as  some  others 
have  done,  to  be  friends  with  the  Yankees,  and  he 
seeks  no  personal  advantage  from  them.  He  has 
said  and  done  nothing  to  curry  favor  with  them,  or 
draw  their  attention  to  his  "  loyalty,"  and  he  has  not 
even  hinted  to  us  at  the  idea  of  paying  them  any  social 
attentions.  Poor  father,  it  is  his  own  house,  but  he 
knows  too  well  what  a  domestic  hurricane  that  would 
raise,  and  though  he  does  storm  at  us  sometimes,  when 
we  say  too  much,  as  if  he  was  going  to  break  the  head 
of  the  last  one  of  us,  he  is  a  dear,  good,  sweet,  old 


228      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

father,  after  all,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  my 
undutiful  conduct  to  him.  I  know  I  deserve  to  have 
my  head  cracked,  but  oh !  I  do  wish  that  he  was  on 
our  side !  He  is  too  good  a  man  to  be  in  the  same  po- 
litical boat  with  the  wretches  that  are  plundering  and 
devastating  our  country.  He  was  right  in  the  begin- 
ning, when  he  said  that  secession  was  a  mistake,  and  it 
would  be  better  to  have  our  negroes  freed  in  the  Union, 
if  necessary,  than  out  of  it,  because  in  that  case,  it 
would  be  done  without  passion,  and  violence,  and  we 
would  get  compensation  for  them — but  now  the  thing 
is  done,  and  there  is  no  use  talking  about  the  right  or 
the  wrong  of  it.  I  sympathize  with  the  spirit  of  that 
sturdy  old  heathen  I  have  read  about  somewhere,  who 
said  to  the  priests  who  were  trying  to  convert  him,  that 
he  would  rather  stick  to  his  own  gods  and  go  to  hell 
with  his  warrior  ancestors,  than  sit  down  to  feast  in 
heaven  with  their  little  starveling  band  of  Christians. 
That  is  the  way  I  feel  about  Yankees;  I  would  rather 
be  wrong  with  Lee  and  his  glorious  army  than  right 
with  a  gang  of  fanatics  that  have  come  down  here  to 
plunder  and  oppress  us  in  the  name  of  liberty. 

The  Elzeys  and  other  friends  called  after  tea,  and 
we  spent  another  half-happy,  half-wretched  evening 
on  the  moonlit  piazza.  Even  these  pleasant  reunions 
make  me  sad  because  I  know  they  must  soon  come  to 
an  end.  Since  the  war  began,  I  have  made  friends 
only  to  lose  them.  Dear  Mrs.  Elzey  is  like  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  on  a  rainy  day.     She  pitches  into  the  Yan- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  229 

kees  with  such  vigor,  and  says  such  funny  things  about 
them,  that  even  father  has  to  laugh.  Capt.  Irwin  is  a 
whole  day  of  sunshine  himself,  but  even  his  happy 
temper  is  so  dimmed  by  sadness  that  his  best  jokes 
fall  flat  for  want  of  the  old  spirit  in  telling  them. 
Gen.  Yorke  and  his  train  left  this  morning.  Fred  is  to 
meet  him  in  Augusta  to-morrow  and  go  as  far  as 
Yazoo  City  with  him,  to  look  after  father's  Mississippi 
plantation,  if  anything  is  left  there  to  look  after.  The 
general  went  off  with  both  pockets  full  of  my  cigar- 
ettes, and  he  laughingly  assured  me  that  he  would 
think  of  me  at  least  as  long  as  they  lasted. 

May  8,  Monday. — We  had  a  sad  leave-taking  at 
noon.  Capt.  Irwin,  finding  it  impossible  to  get  trans- 
portation to  Norfolk  by  way  of  Savannah,  decided  last 
night  that  he  would  start  for  Virginia  this  morning 
with  Judge  Crump.  He  has  no  money  to  pay  his  way 
with,  but  like  thousands  of  other  poor  Confederates, 
depends  on  his  war  horse  to  carry  him  through,  and 
on  Southern  hospitality  to  feed  and  lodge  him.  He 
left  his  trunk,  and  Judge  Crump  his  official  papers,  in 
father's  care.  Mother  packed  up  a  large  quantity  of 
provisions  for  them,  and  father  gave  them  letters  to 
friends  of  his  all  along  the  route,  through  Georgia  and 
Carolina,  as  far  as  his  personal  acquaintance  extends. 
Our  avenue  was  alive  all  the  morning  with  Confeder- 
ates riding  back  and  forth  to  bid  their  old  comrades 
good-by.  The  dear  captain  tried  to  keep  up  a  brave 
heart,  and  rode  off  with  a  jest  on  his  lips  and  moisture 


230      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

in  his  eyes,  while  as  for  us — we  ladies  all  broke  down 
and  cried  like  children.  The  dear  old  Judge,  too, 
seemed  deeply  moved  at  parting,  and  we  could  do  noth- 
ing but  cry,  and  nobody  could  say  what  we  wanted  to. 
Partings  are  doubly  sad  now,  when  the  chances  of 
meeting  again  are  so  few.  We  shall  all  be  too  poor 
to  travel,  and  too  poor  to  extend  the  hospitality  for 
which  our  Southern  homes  have  been  noted,  any  more. 
The  pinch  of  want  is  making  itself  felt  more  severely 
every  day,  and  we  haven't  the  thought  that  we  are 
suffering  for  our  country  that  buoyed  us  up 
during  the  war.  Men  with  thousands  of  Confed- 
erate money  in  their  pockets  cannot  buy  a  pin. 
Father  has  a  little  specie  which  he  was  prudent 
enough  to  lay  aside  at  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
but  he  has  given  a  good  deal  of  it  to  the  boys  at  differ- 
ent times,  when  they  were  hard  up,  and  the  little  that 
is  left  will  have  to  be  spent  with  the  greatest  care,  to 
feed  our  family.  I  could  not  even  pay  postage  on  a 
letter  if  it  were  necessary  to  write  one.  I  have  serious 
notions  of  trying  to  sell  cigarettes  to  the  Yankees  in 
order  to  get  a  little  pocket  money, — only,  I  could  not 
bear  the  humiliation. 

Part  of  the  regiment  that  plundered  the  train  on  the 
Athens  Branch  has  been  sent  to  Washington,  and  is 
behaving  very  badly.  Aunt  Cornelia's  guard,  too,  re- 
fused to  stay  with  her  any  longer  because  he  was  not 
invited  to  eat  at  the  table  with  the  family !  Others  of 
the  company  then  went  there  and  committed  all  sorts 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  231 

of  depredations  on  the  lot.  They  cursed  Aunty  and 
threatened  to  burn  the  house  down,  and  one  of  them 
drew  a  pistol  on  Mr.  Hull  for  interfering,  but  promptly 
took  to  his  heels  when  Mr.  Hull  returned  the  civility. 
He  soon  came  back  with  several  of  his  comrades  and 
made  such  threats  that  Aunty  sent  to  their  commanding 
officer  and  asked  for  a  guard,  but  received  for 
answer  that  "  they  would  guard  her  to  hell."  Capt. 
Hudson  then  went  to  the  provost-marshal  in 
command  of  the  town,  Capt.  Lot  Abraham,  who 
sent  a  lieutenant  with  another  guard.  Aunty  com- 
plained to  the  lieutenant  of  the  way  she  had  been 
insulted,  but  he  replied  that  the  guard  might  stay  or 
not,  as  he  chose;  that  she  had  not  treated  the  former 
one  with  proper  consideration,  and  he  would  not  com- 
pel another  to  stay  in  her  house.  Aunty  was  ready  to 
choke  with  rage,  she  says,  but  dared  not  speak  a  word, 
and  now  the  family  have  to  purchase  safety  by  having 
a  horrid  plebeian  of  a  Yankee,  who  is  fitter  company 
for  the  negroes  in  the  kitchen,  sit  at  the  table  with 
them.  The  whole  family  are  bursting  with  indigna- 
tion, but  dare  not  show  it  for  fear  of  having  their 
house  burned  over  their  heads.  They  spoke  in  whis- 
pers while  telling  me  about  it,  and  I  was  so  angry  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to  run  a  knitting  needle  into 
the  rascal,  who  sat  lolling  at  his  ease  in  an  armchair 
on  the  piazza,  looking  as  insolent  as  if  he  were  the 
master  of  the  house.  It  is  said  we  are  to  have  a  negro 
garrison  in  Washington,  and  all  sorts  of  horrible  ru- 


232      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

mors  are  afloat.  But  we  know  nothing  except  what 
the  tyrants  choose  that  we  shall.  The  form  of  parole 
has  been  changed  so  that  none  of  our  officers  are  will- 
ing to  take  it,  and  many  of  them  slip  through  in  the 
night  and  make  their  escape  without  being  paroled 
at  all. 

Johnston's  army  is  pouring  in  now.  People  are 
getting  used  to  the  presence  of  the  Yankees,  and  Wash- 
ington is  a  great  thoroughfare  for  Confederates  once 
more.  Lee's  men  used  up  all  the  breadstuffs  in  the 
commissariat,  so  the  newcomers  have  to  depend  on 
private  hospitality.  The  Yankees  say  they  can't  collect 
corn  and  flour  to  replace  what  was  destroyed  during 
the  riots.  They  give  out  rations  of  meat,  but  nothing 
else,  and  it  is  pitiful  to  see  the  poor  fellows  going  about 
the  streets  offering  to  exchange  part  of  their  scanty 
ration  of  bacon  for  bread.  Numbers  of  them  come  to 
our  door  every  day,  begging  for  bread,  and  it  almost 
makes  me  cry  when  a  poor  fellow  sometimes  pulls 
out  a  piece  of  rancid  bacon  from  his  haversack  and 
offers  it  in  pay.  Mother  will  never  take  anything  from 
a  soldier,  and  we  always  share  what  little  we  have 
with  them.  It  gives  me  more  pleasure  to  feed  the 
poor  Rebs  than  to  eat  myself.  I  go  out  and  talk 
with  them  frequently,  while  they  are  waiting  to 
have  their  food  cooked.  This  evening,  two  of  them 
were  sitting  on  the  front  steps  talking  over  their 
troubles,  and  I  heard  one  of  them  say :  "  If  I  kin 
just  git  back  home  to  Sally  once  more,  I  won't  care 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  233 

about  nothin'  else."  He  was  young,  I  could  see, 
through  all  the  dirt  and  grime  on  his  face,  so  I  sup- 
pose "  Sally  "  was  either  his  sweetheart,  or  the  young 
bride  he  left  when  he  went  away  to  the  war.  Some 
of  our  Confederates  wear  a  dark,  bluish-gray  uniform 
which  is  difficult  to  distinguish  from  the  Federal 
blue,  and  I  live  in  constant  fear  of  making  a  mistake. 
As  a  general  thing  our  privates  have  no  uniform  but 
rags,  poor  fellows,  but  the  officers  sometimes  puzzle 
me,  unless  they  wear  the  Hungarian  knot  on  their 
sleeves.  It  makes  the  letters,  C.S.A.,  but  one  would 
not  be  apt  to  notice  the  monogram  unless  it  was  pointed 
out  to  him.  It  is  a  beautiful  uniform,  and  I  shall  al- 
ways love  the  colors,  gray  and  gold,  for  its  sake — or 
rather  for  the  sake  of  the  men  who  wore  it.  There 
is  a  report  that  Confederate  officers  are  going  to  be 
ordered  to  lay  aside  their  uniforms.  It  will  be  a  black 
day  when  this  habit  that  we  all  love  so  well  gives  place 
to  the  badge  of  servitude.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
history  of  nations  to  compare  with  the  humiliations  we 
Southerners  have  to  endure. 

Brother  Troup  and  Mr.  Forline  came  in  to-day. 
Fred  was  left  by  the  train  this  afternoon  and  will  make 
another  start  to-morrow,  in  company  with  Mr.  For- 
line. He  is  very  anxious  to  reach  Yazoo  City,  to  save 
some  of  father's  property  in  the  Yazoo  Bottom,  if  he 
can,  but  I  am  afraid  there  is  nothing  left  to  save. 
They  hope  to  get  transportation  with  a  Kentucky  regi- 
ment that  is  going  by  way  of  Savannah  to  Baltimore 

16 


234      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

or  New  York — a  rather  roundabout  way  to  reach 
Mississippi,  but  better  than  footing  it  overland  in 
the  present  disturbed  state  of  the  country. 

May  9,  Tuesday. — Ladies  are  beginning  to  visit  a 
little,  though  the  streets  are  as  crowded  and  dusty  as 
ever.  Johnston's  men  are  coming  through  in  full  tide, 
and  there  is  constant  danger  of  a  collision  between 
them  and  the  Yankees.  There  are  four  brigades  of 
cavalry  camped  on  the  outskirts  of  town  waiting  to  be 
paroled.  Contrary  to  their  agreement  with  Lee  and 
Johnston,  the  Yankees  now  want  to  deprive  these  men 
of  their  horses  and  side  arms,  and  refuse  to  parole 
them  until  they  are  dismounted  and  disarmed.  Our 
men  refuse  to  submit  to  such  an  indignity  and  vow 

they  will  kill  every  "  d d  Yankee  "  in  Washington 

rather  than  suffer  such  a  perfidious  breach  of  faith. 
Lot  Abraham,  or  "  Marse  Lot,"  as  we  call  him,  seems 
to  be  a  fairly  good  sort  of  a  man  for  a  Yankee,  and 
disposed  to  behave  as  well  as  the  higher  powers  will 
let  him.  He  has  gone  to  Augusta  with  Gen.  Vaughan, 
who  is  in  command  of  one  of  the  refractory  brigades, 
to  try  to  have  the  unjust  order  repealed.  If  he  does 
not  succeed,  we  may  look  out  for  hot  times.  The 
Yankees  have  only  a  provost  guard  here  at  present, 
and  one  brigade  of  our  men  could  chop  them  to  mince 
meat.  I  almost  wish  there  would  be  a  fight.  It  would 
do  my  heart  good  to  see  those  ruffians  who  insulted 
Aunty  thrashed  out,  though  I  know  it  would  be  the 
worse  for  us  in  the  end. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  235 

I  have  been  exchanging  experiences  with  a  good 
many  people,  and  find  that  we  have  fared  better  than 
most  of  our  friends,  on  account,  I  suppose,  of  our  re- 
tired situation,  and  the  distance  of  our  house  from  the 
street.  While  Gen.  Stacy's  men  were  camped  out  at 
the  mineral  spring,  he  made  his  headquarters  at  Mrs. 
James  DuBose's  house,  and  permitted  his  negro  troops 
to  have  the  freedom  of  the  premises,  even  after  Mrs. 
DuBose  had  appealed  to  him  for  protection.  They  go 
into  people's  kitchens  and  try  to  make  the  other  negroes 
discontented  and  disobedient.  Some  of  the  girls  who 
live  near  the  street  tell  me  they  don't  venture  to  open 
their  pianos,  because  if  they  begin  to  play,  they  are  lia- 
ble to  be  interrupted  by  Yankee  soldiers  intruding 
themselves  into  the  parlor  to  hear  the  music.  People 
are  very  much  exasperated,  but  have  no  redress.  Our 
soldiers  are  likely  to  raise  a  row  with  them  at  any 
time,  but  it  would  do  no  good.  Yesterday,  they  gave 
the  garrison  a  scare  by  pretending  to  storm  their  quar- 
ters in  the  courthouse.  They  say  the  Yankees  are  very 
uneasy,  and  sing  small  whenever  a  big  troop  of  our 
men  arrive,  though  they  grow  very  impertinent  in  the 
intervals.  Our  little  town  has  witnessed  only  the  sad- 
dest act  of  the  war — the  dissolution  of  the  Confederate 
Government  and  the  dispersal  of  our  armies.  The 
Yankees  are  gathering  up  all  the  wagons  and  stores 
that  belonged  to  our  government  for  their  own  use. 
The  remains  of  our  poor  little  treasury  have  also  been 
handed   over   to   them.     I   am   sorry   now   that   our 


236      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

cavalry  didn't  complete  their  job  and  get  the  whole  of 
it.  It  seems  hard  that  the  supplies  contributed  out  of 
our  necessities  during  these  four  years  of  privation  for 
the  support  of  our  own  government,  should  go  now  to 
fill  the  pockets  of  our  oppressors. 

The  negroes,  thus  far,  have  behaved  fairly  well, 
except  where  they  have  been  tampered  with.  Not  one 
of  father's  has  left  us,  and  they  are  just  as  humble 
and  obedient  as  ever.  On  Sunday,  a  good  many  run- 
aways came  in  from  the  country  but  their  loving 
brothers  in  blue  sent  them  back — not  from  any  regard 
for  us  or  our  institutions,  but  because  they  prefer  to 
have  their  pets  fed  by  their  masters  until  their  plans 
for  emancipation  are  complete.  They  kept  some  of 
the  likeliest  of  the  men  who  went  to  them,  as  servants, 
and  refused  to  give  them  up  when  the  owners  called 
for  them.  Ben  Harden,  a  giant  of  a  country  squire, 
exasperated  at  their  refusal  to  restore  one  of  his  men, 
stepped  in  amongst  them,  collared  the  negro,  and  gave 
him  a  thrashing  on  the  spot.  There  were  so  many 
Confederate  soldiers  on  the  square,  watching  the  fra- 
cas, that  the  little  handful  of  a  garrison  didn't  venture 
to  interfere,  and  he  carried  his  negro  off  home  un- 
opposed. 

Mrs.  Elzey  took  tea  with  us.  The  general  and  Capt. 
Hudson  have  gone  to  Augusta  to  try  to  raise  money 
to  take  them  home.  The  general  is  going  to  sell  all 
his  horses,  even  his  favorite  war  horse,  Nell,  named 
for  his  wife. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  237 

May  10,  Wednesday. — Harry  Day  came  over  from 
Macon  looking  very  pale  and  ill.  He  brought  letters 
from  our  Macon  friends.  Since  Confederate  money 
and  Confederate  postage  stamps  have  "  gone  up," 
most  of  us  are  too  poor  to  indulge  in  corresponding 
with  friends  except  by  private  hand,  and  besides,  the 
mails  are  so  uncertain  that  one  does  not  feel  safe  in 
trusting  them.  We  have  had  no  mail  at  all  for  several 
days  and  rumor  has  it  that  the  Augusta  post  office  has 
been  closed  by  order  of  the  commanding  officer,  but 
nobody  knows  anything  for  certain.  Our  masters  do 
not  let  us  into  their  plans,  and  we  can  only  wait  in 
suspense  to  see  what  they  will  do  next.  The  "  Con- 
stitutionalist "  has  been  suppressed  because  it  uttered 
sentiments  not  approved  by  the  conquerors.  And  yet, 
they  talk  about  Russian  despotism !  Even  father  can't 
find  any  excuse  for  such  doings,  though  he  says  this 
is  no  worse  than  the  suppression  of  Union  papers  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war  by  Secession  violence.  But 
I  think  the  sporadic  acts  of  excited  mobs  don't  carry 
the  same  weight  of  responsibility,  and  are  not  nearly 
so  dangerous  to  the  liberties  of  a  country,  as  the  en- 
croachments of  an  established  government. 

The  hardest  to  bear  of  all  the  humiliations  yet  put 
upon  us,  is  the  sight  of  Andy  Johnson's  proclamation 
offering  rewards  for  the  arrest  of  Jefferson  Davis, 
Clement  C.  Clay,  and  Beverly  Tucker,  under  pretense 
that  they  were  implicated  in  the  assassination  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.     It  is  printed  in  huge  letters  on  hand- 


238      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

bills  and  posted  in  every  public  place  in  town — a  flam- 
ing insult  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  vil- 
lage, as  if  they  believed  there  was  a  traitor  among  us 
so  base  as  to  betray  the  victims  of  their  malice,  even  if 
we  knew  where  they  were.  If  they  had  posted  one  of 
their  lying  accusations  on  our  street  gate,  I  would  tear 
it  down  with  my  own  hands,  even  if  they  sent  me  to 
jail  for  it.  But  I  am  sure  that  father  would  never 
permit  his  premises  to  be  desecrated  by  such  an  infamy 
as  that.  It  is  the  most  villainous  slander  ever  perpe- 
trated, and  is  gotten  up  solely  with  a  view  to  making 
criminals  of  political  offenders  so  that  foreign  govern- 
ments would  be  obliged  to  deliver  them  up  if  they 
should  succeed  in  making  their  escape.  Fortunately, 
the  characters  of  the  men  they  have  chosen  as  scape- 
goats are  so  far  above  suspicion  as  only  to  discredit 
the  accusers  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  all  decent  people. 
The  Clays  were  at  our  house  while  I  was  away  last 
winter,  and  father  says  Mr.  Clay  reminded  him  of  our 
friend  Mr.  Lafayette  Lamar,  and  would  be  just  about 
as  capable  of  murder.  And  Jefferson  Davis,  our 
noble,  unfortunate  president — the  accusation  is.  simply 
a  disgrace  to  those  who  make  it.  If  there  should  hap- 
pen to  be  any  truth  in  that  strangely  persistent  rumor 
about  Lincoln  and  Davis  being  brothers,  what  a  situa- 
tion for  the  future  Scotts  and  Schillers  of  America! 
While  there  is  no  proof  that  I  know  of,  the  thing  does 
not  seem  so  very  improbable.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  old  Sam  Davis  or  his  morals,  but  when  David 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  239 

said  "  all  men  are  liars,"  he  might  have  added  another 
and  greater  sin — and  proved  it  by  his  own  example. 
There  is  undoubtedly  a  curious  general  resemblance  in 
the  physique  of  the  two  men  as  shown  in  their  pictures, 
notwithstanding  the  plebeian  aspect  of  the  Illinois  rail- 
splitter,  which  would  easily  be  accounted  for  by  the 
circumstances  of  his  birth.  True  or  false,  it  is  a  sit- 
uation to  rank  with  "  Don  Carlos,"  "  Le  Cid,"  or  "  Les 
Freres  Ennemis." 

Our  cavalry  have  won  their  point  about  the  terms 
of  surrender,  and  rode  triumphantly  out  of  town  this 
afternoon,  still  retaining  their  side  arms.  There  were 
3,000  of  them,  and  they  made  a  sight  worth  looking  at 
as  they  passed  by  our  street  gate.  It  is  well  the  Yanks 
gave  up  to  them,  for  they  said  they  were  determined 
to  fight  again  rather  than  yield,  and  our  own  returned 
volunteers  were  ready  to  help  them.  They  say  the 
little  handful  of  a  garrison  were  frightened  all  but  out 
of  their  wits  anyway,  for  our  men  could  have  eaten 
them  up  before  they  had  time  to  send  for  reinforce- 
ments. Some  of  our  cavalry  got  drunk  a  night  or  two 
ago,  and  drove  them  all  into  the  courthouse,  wounding 
one  man  in  the  row.  An  officer  came  up  from  Augusta 
to-day,  with  reinforcements.  They  seem  to  regard 
Washington  as  true  to  its  old  revolutionary  sobriquet 
of  "  The  Hornets'  Nest,"  and  are  evidently  afraid  to 
stay  here  without  a  strong  force  while  such  large  num- 
bers of  our  rebel  soldiers  are  passing  through.  John- 
ston's army  is  now  in  full  sweep.  The  town  is  thronged 


240      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

with  them  from  morn  till  night,  and  from  night  till 
morning.  They  camp  in  our  grove  by  whole  com- 
panies, but  never  do  any  mischief.  I  love  to  look  out 
of  my  windows  in  the  night  and  see  their  camp  fires 
burning  among  the  trees  and  their  figures  moving 
dimly  in  and  out  among  the  shadows,  like  protecting 
spirits.  I  love  to  lie  awake  and  hear  the  sound  of 
their  voices  talking  and  laughing  over  their  hard  ex- 
periences. Metta  and  I  often  go  out  to  the  gate  after 
supper  and  sing  the  old  rebel  songs  that  we  know  will 
please  them. 

May  ii,  Thursday. — Henry  reached  home  late  in 
the  afternoon,  so  ragged  and  dirty  that  none  of  us 
knew  him  till  he  spoke.  He  had  not  had  a  change  of 
clothes  for  three  weeks,  and  his  face  was  so  dirty  that 
he  had  to  wash  it  before  we  could  kiss  him.  He  came 
all  the  way  from  Greensborough,  N.  C,  on  horseback, 
and  when  we  asked  him  where  he  got  his  horse,  he 
laughed  and  said  that  he  bought  a  saddle  for  fifty  cents 
in  silver — his  pay  for  three  years'  service — and  kept 
on  swapping  till  he  found  himself  provided  with  a 
horse  and  full  outfit.  Garnett  said  he  had  better  quit 
medicine  and  go  to  horse  trading.  The  scarcity  of 
specie  gives  it  a  fictitious  value  that  brings  down  prices 
wonderfully,  but  even  this  is  not  sufficient  to  account 
for  the  sudden  fall  in  the  value  of  horses  that  has  taken 
place  in  the  track  of  our  returning  armies.  Even  here 
in  Wilkes  County,  where  the  Confederate  treasury 
was  raided  and  specie  is  comparatively  plentiful,  horses 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  241 

sell  every  day  at  prices  ranging  from  50c.  to  $2.50; 
and  yesterday  on  the  square,  a  negro  sold  one  for  25c. 
The  tide  of  travel  is  now  mostly  westward,  and  the 
soldiers  help  themselves  to  horses  on  the  way  that  they 
have  no  further  use  for  when  they  strike  the  railroad 
here,  and  are  glad  to  sell  them  for  any  price  they  will 
bring,  or  even  turn  them  loose  to  get  rid  of  them.  In- 
stead of  having  to  be  guarded  like  gold,  as  was  the 
case  a  week  or  two  ago,  horses  are  now  a  drug  on  the 
market  at  every  railway  station.  Gen.  Elzey  says  he 
found  no  sale  for  his  in  Augusta.  I  don't  know  what 
he  will  do  for  money  to  get  home  on. 

Henry  traveled  out  from  Greensborough  (N.  C) 
with  an  artillery  company  which  paid  its  way  in  cloth 
and  thread.  The  regiment  to  which  he  had  been  at- 
tached disbanded  and  scattered  soon  after  the  sur- 
render, all  except  himself  and  the  adjutant.  Capt. 
Hudson  says  Henry  doctored  the  adjutant  and  the 
adjutant  officered  him.  They  attached  themselves  to 
Maj.  Palmer's  battalion  of  artillery  and  Henry  trav- 
eled as  far  as  Ruckersville  with  it.  He  is  now  ready 
to  begin  life  anew  with  a  broken-down  old  army  horse 
as  his  sole  stock  in  trade.  Garnett  has  not  even  that 
much.  The  Yankees  got  his  horse,  and  his  boy  Sidney, 
whom  he  left  with  Henry  when  he  took  to  the  field, 
disappeared — to  enjoy  the  delights  of  freedom,  I  sup- 
pose. 

The  Yankees  began  favoring  Gen.  Toombs  with 
their  attentions  to-day.     He  and  Gov.  Brown  and  Mr. 


242      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Stephens  have  been  permitted  to  remain  so  long  unmo- 
lested that  people  were  beginning  to  wonder  what  it 
could  mean.  To-day,  however,  news  came  of  the  ar- 
rest of  Brown  and  Stephens,  and  an  attempt  was  made 
to  take  Mr.  Toombs.  An  extra  train  came  in  about 
noon,  bringing  a  company  of  bluecoats  under  the  com- 
mand of  a  Capt.  Saint — and  a  precious  saint  he  proved 
to  be.  Everybody  thought  they  had  merely  come  to 
reenforce  Capt.  Abraham's  garrison,  but  their  purpose 
was  soon  made  apparent  when  they  marched  up  to 
Gen.  Toombs's  house.  Cora  was  up  there  spending  the 
day,  and  saw  it  all.  The  general  was  in  his  sitting- 
room  when  the  Yankees  were  seen  entering  his  front 
gate.  He  divined  their  purpose  and  made  his  escape 
through  the  back  door  as  they  were  entering  the  front, 
and  I  suppose  he  is  safely  concealed  now  in  some  coun- 
try house.  The  intruders  proceeded  to  search  the 
dwelling,  looking  between  mattresses  and  under 
bureaus,  as  if  a  man  of  Gen.  Toombs's  size  could  be 
hid  like  a  paper  doll !  They  then  questioned  the  serv- 
ants, but  none  of  them  would  give  the  least  informa- 
tion, though  the  Yankees  arrested  all  the  negro  men 
and  threatened  to  put  them  in  jail.  They  asked  old 
Aunt  Betty  where  her  master  was,  and  she  answered 
bluntly:  "  Ef  I  knowed,  I  wouldn't  tell  you."  They 
then  ordered  her  to  cook  dinner  for  them,  but  she 
turned  her  broad  back  on  them,  saying :  "  I  won't  do  no 
sech  a  thing;  I'se  a  gwineter  hep  my  missis  pack  up 
her  clo'es."     The  servants  were  all  very  indignant  at 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  243 

the  manner  in  which  they  were  ordered  about,  and  de- 
clared that  their  own  white  folks  had  never  spoken  to 
them  in  "  any  sech  a  way."  Mrs.  Toombs's  dinner 
was  on  the  table  and  the  family  about  to  go  into  the 
dining-room  when  the  intruders  arrived,  and  they  ate 
it  all  up  besides  ordering  more  to  be  cooked  for  them. 
They  threatened  to  burn  the  house  down  if  the  general 
was  not  given  up,  and  gave  the  family  just  two  hours 
to  move  out.  Gen.  Gilmer,  who  was  in  the  old  army 
before  the  war,  remonstrated  with  them,  and  they  ex- 
tended the  time  till  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  kindly 
promised  not  to  burn  it  at  all  if  the  general  were  de- 
livered up  to  them  in  the  meantime.  Mrs.  Toombs 
straightened  herself  up  and  said :  "  Burn  it  then,"  and 
the  family  immediately  began  to  move  out.  Neither 
Mrs.  Toombs  nor  Mrs.  DuBose  suffered  the  Yankees 
to  see  them  shed  a  tear,  though  both  are  ready  to  die 
of  grief,  and  Mrs.  DuBose  on  the  verge  of  her  con- 
finement, too.  Everything  is  moved  out  of  the  house 
now,  and  Mrs.  Toombs  says  she  hopes  it  will  be  burned 
rather  than  used  by  the  miserable  plunderers  and  their 
negro  companions.  The  family  have  found  shelter 
with  their  relatives  and  distributed  their  valuables 
among  their  friends.  The  family  pictures  and  some 
of  the  plate  are  stored  in  our  house,  and  mother  in- 
vited Mrs.  Walthall  here,  but  she  went  to  the 
Anthonys',  knowing  how  crowded  we  are.  Cora  staid 
with  them  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  news  of 
Henry's  arrival  brought  her  home.     I  hope  the  general 


244      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

will  get  off  safe,  and  Gov.  Brown  too,  though  I  never 
admired  him.  But  when  people  are  in  misfortune  is 
no  time  to  be  bringing  up  their  faults  against  them. 

The  most  infamous  thing  I  ever  heard  of  even  a 
Yankee  doing,  was  their  trying  to  entrap  Gen. 
Toombs's  little  grand-children  into  betraying  him,  and 
little  Toombs  DuBose  innocently  informed  them  that 
"  grand-pa  was  in  the  house  when  they  came."  They 
met  Touch  Elzey  coming  from  school  and  taunted  him 
with  being  the  son  of  a  rebel,  but  he  spoke  up  like  a 
man  and  said  he  was  proud  of  being  a  rebel,  and  so 
was  his  father.  They  insulted  the  boy  by  telling  him 
that  now  was  his  chance  to  make  a  fortune  by  inform- 
ing where  the  president  and  Mr.  Clay  were  gone.  Mrs. 
Elzey  was  so  angry  when  Touch  told  her  about  it  that 
she  says  she  was  ready  to  go  on  the  war-path  herself. 

May  12,  Friday. — The  Saint  and  his  angels  failed  to 
burn  Gen.  Toombs's  house,  after  all.  Whether  the 
threat  was  a  mere  idle  swagger  to  bully  helpless  women 
and  children,  time  must  reveal.  Capt.  Abraham  re- 
turned from  Augusta  to-day  with  more  reinforce- 
ments, and  immediately  apologized  to  Mrs.  Toombs 
for  the  insults  to  which  she  had  been  subjected,  and 
said  that  orders  for  the  raid  upon  her  were  given  over 
his  head  and  without  his  knowledge.  He  really  seems 
to  have  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  and  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  respect  him  a  little,  in  spite  of  his 
uniform.  Although  considerably  reen forced,  his  gar- 
rison seems  to  be  still  in  wholesome  fear  of  a  conflict 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  245 

with  our  throngs  of  disbanded  soldiers.  A  cavalry- 
man went  to  the  courthouse  the  other  day  and  de- 
liberately helped  himself  to  a  musket  before  their  eyes, 
and  they  did  not  even  remonstrate.  Our  cavalry  are 
a  reckless,  unruly  lot,  yet  I  can't  help  admiring  them 
because  they  are  such  red-hot  rebels.  It  may  be  fool- 
ish, but  somehow  I  like  the  spirit  of  those  who  refuse 
to  repent,  and  who  swear  they  would  do  it  all  over,  if 
the  thing  were  to  be  done  again.  A  curious  story  was 
told  me  to-day  about  the  fate  of  some  of  the  plundered 
Confederate  treasure.  A  troop  of  horsemen  who 
were  making  off  with  a  bag  of  specie  they  had  "  cap- 
tured," containing  $5,000  in  silver,  were  alarmed  the 
other  day,  just  as  they  were  riding  past  Gen.  Toombs's 
gate,  by  a  report  that  the  Yankees  were  after  them, 
and  threw  the  sack  over  the  fence  into  his  yard.  The 
general  sent  it  to  the  commandant  as  belonging  to  the 
assets  of  the  defunct  Confederacy.  I  wish  he  had 
thrown  it  into  the  fire  rather  than  given  it  to  them. 

I  had  a  little  adventure  with  a  party  of  Yankees 
myself  this  afternoon.  I  was  down  in  the  back  garden 
with  Marshall,  Touchy,  Gilmer  Sale,  and  some  other 
boys,  shooting  at  a  mark  with  an  Enfield  rifle  and  a 
minie  musket  they  had  picked  up  somewhere.  We 
were  using  the  trunk  of  a  small  cedar  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  for  our  target,  and  it  was  such  a  retired  spot 
that  we  never  dreamed  of  anybody's  being  within  range 
of  our  guns,  when  a  dozen  bluecoats  came  tearing  down 
the  hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  rose  hedge,  frightened 


246      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

out  of  their  senses  and  cursing  like  fury.  They  had 
been  taking  a  stroll  through  the  woods  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge,  and  when  our  balls  began  to  whistle 
about  their  ears,  thought  they  were  bushwhacked.  I 
heard  one  of  them  say,  as  he  made  his  way  through  an 
opening  in  the  vines :  "  I  never  saw  balls  fly  thicker  in 
battle."  Fortunately  for  us  they  were  unarmed  and 
could  not  return  the  fire.  When  they  saw  that  the 
supposed  bushwhackers  were  only  a  woman  and  half 
a  dozen  children,  they  sent  one  of  their  number  to 
speak  with  us.  The  little  boys  wanted  to  run  when 
they  saw  him  coming,  but  I  was  afraid  the  affair  might 
get  us  into  trouble  unless  I  explained,  so  I  stood  wait- 
ing for  the  envoy,  with  Marshall's  rifle  in  my  hand.  I 
told  the  man  what  we  were  doing,  and  expressed  the 
hope — which  happened,  for  once,  to  be  sincere — that 
we  had  not  hurt  anybody.  He  looked  very  gruff,  and 
answered :  "  No,  you  ain't  shot  anybody,  but  you  came 
within  an  inch  of  killing  me.  You  ought  to  be  more 
careful  how  you  shoot."  I  wanted  to  tell  him  that  he 
ought  to  be  more  careful  how  he  went  prowling  about 
on  private  grounds,  but  I  didn't  know  what  tale  he 
might  carry  to  headquarters  if  I  angered  him,  so  I 
answered  very  politely  that  I  didn't  know  there  was 
anybody  behind  the  hedge,  or  I  would  not  have  fired 
in  that  direction. 

"What  are  you  shooting  at,  anyway?"  he  asked, 
looking  round  unsatisfied  and  suspicious. 

I  pointed  to  the  cedar  trunk,  as  yet  unscathed  by 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  247 

our  wandering  bullets.  The  fellow  laughed,  and 
reaching  out  for  the  rifle,  said :  "  Let  me  show  you 
how  to  shoot." 

But  I  held  fast  to  my  weapon,  though  I  knew  I 
couldn't  fire  it  to  save  my  life,  without  resting  it  on 
something  and  pulling  at  the  trigger  with  both  hands, 
but  I  thought  it  best  to  put  on  a  brave  face  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  enemy.  He  then  took  Gilmer's  musket, 
aimed  it  at  a  small  vine  no  bigger  round  than  my  little 
finger,  twined  about  a  sapling  at  least  100  feet  away, 
and  cut  it  in  two  as  clean  as  if  he  had  done  it  with  a 
penknife.  I  couldn't  help  admiring  the  accuracy  of  his 
shot,  but  I  pretended  to  take  no  notice.  He  then  ex- 
amined the  empty  barrel  closely,  returned  it  to  Gilmer, 
and  marched  away  to  join  his  companions,  without 
even  touching  his  hat,  as  the  most  ignorant  Confed- 
erate would  have  done.  The  others  were  peeping  all 
the  time  through  the  hedge,  and  I  heard  one  of  them 
ask  him :  "  Why  didn't  you  take  the  guns  away  from 
the  damned  little  rebels?"  I  didn't  change  my  posi- 
tion till  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  we  all  scuttled 
off  to  the  house  as  hard  as  we  could  go.  We  had  not 
been  there  long  before  a  squad  of  soldiers  came  up  the 
avenue,  and  said  there  were  some  army  guns  in  the 
house,  which  they  must  have,  as  by  the  terms  of  the 
surrender  they  were  now  the  property  of  the  Federal 
Government.  They  called  father  "  old  fellow  "  in  a 
very  insolent  manner,  that  made  me  indignant. 

Our  grove  is  alight  every  night  with  the  camp  fires 


248      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

of  Johnston's  men.  I  often  go  out  to  talk  with  them 
in  the  evenings,  and  hear  them  tell  about  their  homes 
and  their  adventures  in  the  war.  They  are  all  greatly 
discontented  with  the  peace,  and  I  sympathize  with 
them.  They  are  always  grateful  for  an  encouraging 
word,  and  it  is  about  all  we  have  to  give  them  now. 
Most  of  them  are  plain,  uneducated  men,  and  all  are 
ragged  and  dirty  and  sunburnt.  Some  of  the  poor 
fellows  have  hardly  clothes  enough  to  make  them  de- 
cent. But  they  are  Confederate  soldiers,  and  those 
honorable  rags  have  seen  some  glorious  fighting. 

Gen.  Elzey  heard  one  Yankee  soldier  say  to 
another  yesterday,  as  he  was  walking  behind 
them  on  the  street,  in  passing  our  house :  "  Gar- 
nett  Andrews  gave  one  of  our  men  the  hell  of  a 
saber  cut  the  other  day,  at  Salisbury."  I  am 
glad  he  gave  them  something  so  good  to  remember  him 
by.  Poor  Garnett  is  suffering  very  much  from  his 
arm.  He  is  confined  to  bed,  threatened  with  fever, 
and  we  can't  get  proper  food  for  him.  We  have  noth- 
ing but  ham,  ham,  ham,  every  day,  and  such  crowds  of 
company  in  the  house,  and  so  many  lunches  to  furnish, 
that  even  the  ham  has  to  be  husbanded  carefully.  It 
is  dreadful  to  think  what  wretched  fare  we  have  to  set 
before  the  charming  people  who  are  thrown  upon  our 
hospitality.  Ham  and  cornfield  peas  for  dinner  one 
day,  and  cornfield  peas  and  ham  the  next,  is  the  tedious 
menu.  Mother  does  her  best  by  making  Emily  give 
us  every  variation  on  peas  that  ever  was  heard  of;  one 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  249 

day  we  have  pea  soup,  another,  pea  croquettes,  then 
baked  peas  and  ham,  and  so  on,  through  the  whole 
gamut,  but  alas !  they  are  cornfield  peas  still,  and  often 
not  enough  of  even  them.  Sorghum  molasses  is  all 
the  sweetening  we  have,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  nice 
home-made  butter  and  milk,  and  father's  fine  old 
Catawba  wine  and  brandy,  there  would  be  literally 
nothing  to  redeem  the  family  larder  from  bankruptcy. 
And  if  that  were  all,  it  would  not  be  so  bad,  but  there 
is  as  great  a  scarcity  of  house  linen  as  of  provisions. 
All  that  has  not  been  given  to  hospitals  or  cut  up  into 
underclothing,  is  worn  out,  and  we  have  hardly  any- 
thing but  the  coarse  yellow  sheeting  made  by  the 
Macon  and  Augusta  mills,  with  such  a  shortage  of  even 
that,  as  not  to  give  sheets  enough  to  change  the  beds 
half  as  often  as  they  ought  to  be.  As  for  towels, 
mammy  spends  her  whole  time  going  from  room  to 
room,  gathering  up  the  soiled  ones  and  taking  them 
to  the  wash  and  back  again  as  fast  as  they  can  be  done, 
and  even  then  there  are  not  enough  to  give  everybody 
a  good  clean  wipe  more  than  once  a  day.  It  is  delight- 
ful to  have  so  many  charming  people  in  the  house,  but 
dreadfully  mortifying  to  think  we  can't  entertain  them 
any  better.  Besides  the  guests  staying  in  the  house 
we  have  a  stream  of  callers  all  day  long,  both  friends 
and  strangers.  The  Irvin  Artillery  are  all  back  home 
now  and  each  one  has  some  friend  to  introduce. 

May  13,  Saturday. — [Ms.  torn]     .    .    .    The  Yan- 
kees have  stopped  our  mails,  or  else  the  mails  have 
17 


250      THE. WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

stopped  themselves.  We  get  no  papers,  but  thousands 
of  wild  rumors  from  every  direction  take  their  place 
and  keep  us  stirred  up  all  the  time.  Among  the  arri- 
vals to-day  was  Mr.  Wyman,  who  brought  with  him  a 
Dr.  Nicholson,  surgeon  of  his  regiment  [the  ist  Ala- 
bama Cavalry],  and  the  poor  fellows  were  so  starved 
that  it  made  me  tremble  to  see  how  our  meager  dinner 
disappeared  before  them,  though  it  did  my  heart  good, 
too,  to  see  how  they  enjoyed  it.  They  belong  to 
Wheeler's  Cavalry,  and  we  had  a  great  time  running 
them  about  being  in  such  bad  company.  Mother  said 
she  was  going  to  hide  the  silver,  and  Mr.  Wyman  told 
her  she  had  better  search  the  doctor's  pockets  before 
he  went  away,  and  the  doctor  gave  the  same  advice 
about  Mr.  Wyman.  Their  regiment  was  commanded 
by  the  Col.  Blakey  I  met  in  Montgomery  winter  before 
last,  and  Mr.  Wyman  says  he  disbanded  his  men  to 
get  rid  of  them.  They  tell  all  sorts  of  hard  jokes  on 
themselves. 

A  favorite  topic  of  conversation  at  this  time  is  what 
we  are  going  to  do  for  a  living.  Mary  Day  has  been 
working  assiduously  at  paper  cigarettes  to  sell  the 
Yankees.  I  made  some  myself,  with  the  same  inten- 
tion, but  we  both  gave  them  all  away  to  the  poor  Con- 
federates as  fast  as  we  could  roll  them.  It  is  dreadful 
to  be  so  poor,  but  somehow,  I  can't  suppress  a  forlorn 
hope  that  it  won't  last  always,  and  that  a  time  may 
come  when  we  will  laugh  at  all  these  troubles  even 
more   heartily   than   we  do   now.     But   although   we 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  251 

laugh,  I  sometimes  feel  in  my  heart  more  like  crying, 
and  I  am  afraid  that  father  speaks  the  truth  when  he 
says  that  things  are  more  likely  to  become  worse  than 
better. 

May  14,  Sunday. — Mr.  Wyman  and  Dr.  Nicholson 
went  their  way  this  morning  long  before  anybody  was 
up,  so  that  I  had  to  peep  through  the  blinds  to  bid  them 
good-by.  I  told  them  the  reason  they  were  off  so  early 
was  to  avoid  having  their  pockets  searched,  and  Dr. 
Nicholson  answered  that  they  thought  it  best  to  get 
out  of  the  way  before  we  had  time  to  count  the  spoons. 
They  must  have  had  a  lively  time  on  their  journey 
thus  far,  judging  from  Mr.  Wyman's  account  of  it. 

On  my  way  to  church  I  had  a  striking  illustration  of 
the  difference  between  our  old  friends  and  our  new 
masters.  The  streets  were  thronged  with  rebel  sol- 
diers, and  in  one  part  of  my  walk,  I  had  to  pass  where 
a  large  number  of  them  were  gathered  on  the  pave- 
ment, some  sitting,  some  standing,  some  lying  down, 
but  as  soon  as  I  appeared,  the  way  was  instantly  cleared 
for  me,  the  men  standing  like  a  wall,  on  either  side, 
with  hats  off,  until  I  had  passed.  A  little  farther  on 
I  came  to  a  group  of  Yankees  and  negroes  that  filled 
up  the  sidewalk,  but  not  one  of  them  budged,  and  I 
had  to  flank  them  by  going  out  into  the  dusty  road. 
It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  have  ever  had  to 
give  up  the  sidewalk  to  a  man,  much  less  to  negroes! 
I  was  so  indignant  that  I  did  not  carry  a  devotional 
spirit  to  church. 


252      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

The  Yankees  have  pressed  five  of  father's  negro 
men  to  work  for  them.  They  even  took  old  Uncle 
Watson,  whom  father  himself  never  calls  on  to  do 
anything  except  the  lightest  work  about  the  place,  and 
that  only  when  he  feels  like  it.  They  are  very  capri- 
cious in  their  treatment  of  negroes,  as  is  usually  the 
case  with  upstarts  who  are  not  used  to  having  servants 
of  their  own.  Sometimes  they  whip  them  and  send 
them  back  to  their  masters,  and  last  week,  Lot  Abra- 
ham sent  three  of  his  white  men  to  jail  for  tampering 
with  "  slaves,"  as  they  call  them.  This  morning,  how- 
ever, they  sent  off  several  wagon-loads  of  runaways," 
and  it  is  reported  that  Harrison  and  Alfred,  two  of 
father's  men,  have  gone  with  them.  People  are  mak- 
ing no  effort  to  detain  their  negroes  now,  for  they  have 
found  out  that  they  are  free,  and  our  power  over  them 
is  gone.  Our  own  servants  have  behaved  very  well 
thus  far.  The  house  servants  have  every  one  re- 
mained with  us,  and  three  out  of  five  plantation  hands 
whom  the  Yankees  captured  in  Alabama,  ran  away 
from  them  and  came  back  home.  Caesar  Ann,  Cora's 
nurse,  went  off  to  Augusta  this  morning,  professedly 
to  see  her  husband,  who  she  says  is  sick,  but  we  all 
think,  in  reality,  to  try  the  sweets  of  freedom.  Cora 
and  Henry  made  no  effort  to  keep  her,  but  merely 
warned  her  that  if  she  once  went  over  to  the  Yankees, 
she  could  never  come  back  to  them  any  more.  Mother 
will  have  to  give  up  one  of  her  maids  to  nurse  Maud, 
but  I  suppose  it  is  a  mere  question  of  time  when  we 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  253 

shall  have  to  give  them  all  up  anyway,  so  it  doesn't 
matter. 

We  have  had  an  unusually  quiet  day.  Only  three 
new  guests,  and  two  of  them  were  sent  by  Judge 
Crump  to  see  father  on  business.  They  brought  news 
of  the  Judge  and  our  dear  Captain  which  we  were  glad 
to  hear.  I  walked  in  the  grove  after  sunset  and  talked 
with  the  rebels  who  were  camping  there,  and  we 
mourned  together  over  the  capture  of  our  beloved 
President.  Johnston's  army  will  soon  have  all  passed 
through,  and  then  the  Yankee  garrison  will  feel  free 
to  treat  us  as  it  pleases.  Several  thousand  of  our  men 
pass  through  almost  every  day.  Six  thousand  are 
expected  to-morrow.  When  the  last  one  is  gone, 
what  desolation  there  will  be!  I  think  I  will  hang 
a  Confederate  uniform  on  a  pole  and  keep  it  to 
look  at. 

May  15,  Monday. — Harry  Day  returned  from 
Augusta,  bringing  frightful  accounts  of  what  the  taxes, 
proscriptions,  and  confiscations  are  going  to  be.  Father 
says  that  if  a  man  were  to  sit  down  and  write  a  pro- 
gramme for  reducing  a  country  to  the  very  worst  con- 
dition it  could  possibly  be  in,  his  imagination  could 
not  invent  anything  half  so  bad  as  the  misery  that  is 
likely  to  come  upon  us.  The  cities  and  towns  are 
already  becoming  overcrowded  with  runaway  negroes. 
In  Augusta  they  are  clamoring  for  food,  which  the 
Yankees  refuse  to  give,  and  their  masters,  having  once 
been  deserted   by   them,   refuse   to   take   them  back. 


254     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Even  in  our  little  town  the  streets  are  so  full  of  idle 
negroes  and  bluecoats  that  ladies  scarcely  ever  venture 
out.  We  are  obliged  to  go  sometimes,  but  it  is  always 
with  drooping  heads  and  downcast  eyes.  A  settled 
gloom,  deep  and  heavy,  hangs  over  the  whole  land. 
All  hearts  are  in  mourning  for  the  fall  of  our  country, 
and  all  minds  rebellious  against  the  wrongs  and  oppres- 
sion to  which  our  cruel  conquerors  subject  us.  I  don't 
believe  this  war  is  over  yet.  The  Trans-Mississippi 
bubble  has  burst,  but  wait  till  the  tyranny  and  arro- 
gance of  the  United  States  engages  them  in  a  foreign 
war!  Ah,  we'll  bide  our  time.  That's  what  all  the 
men  say,  and  their  eyes  glow  and  their  cheeks  burn 
when  they  say  it.  Though  the  whole  world  has  de- 
serted us  and  left  us  to  perish  without  even  a  pitying 
sigh  at  our  miserable  doom,  and  we  hate  the  whole 
world  for  its  cruelty,  yet  we  hate  the  Yankees  more, 
and  they  will  find  the  South  a  volcano  ready  to  burst 
beneath  their  feet  whenever  the  justice  of  heaven  hurls 
a  thunderbolt  at  their  heads.  We  are  overwhelmed, 
overpowered,  and  trodden  underfoot  .  .  .  but  "  im- 
mortal hate  and  study  of  revenge  "  lives,  in  the  soul  of 
every  man.     .     .     .     [Ms.  torn.] 

Mrs.  Alfred  Cumming,  whose  husband  was  Gov- 
ernor of  Utah  before  the  war,  came  to  see  us  this 
morning.  She  tried  to  go  to  Clarkesville,  but  found 
the  country  so  infested  with  robbers  and  bushwhackers 
and  "  Kirke's  Lambs,"  that  she  dared  not  venture  three 
miles  beyond  Athens.     The  Yankees  have  committed 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  255 

such  depredations  there  that  the  whole  country  is  desti- 
tute and  the  people  desperate.  The  poor  are  clamoring 
for  bread,  and  many  of  them  have  taken  to  "  bush- 
whacking "  as  their  only  means  of  living.  Mrs.  Cum- 
ming  traveled  from  Union  Point  to  Barnett  in  the 
same  car  with  Mr.  Stephens.  The  Yankee  guard  suf- 
fered him  to  stop  an  hour  at  Crawfordville  [his 
home],  in  order  to  collect  some  of  his  clothing.  As 
soon  as  his  arrival  became  known,  the  people  flocked 
to  see  him,  weeping  and  wringing  their  hands.  All 
his  negroes  went  out  to  see  him  off,  and  many  others 
from  the  surrounding  plantations.  Mrs.  Cumming 
says  that  as  the  train  moved  off,  all  along  the  plat- 
form, honest  black  hands  of  every  shape  and  size  were 
thrust  in  at  the  window,  with  cries  of  "  Good-by,  Mr. 
Stephens;"  "  Far'well,  Marse  Aleck."  All  the  spec- 
tators were  moved  to  tears;  the  vice-president  him- 
self gave  way  to  an  outburst  of  affectionate — not 
cowardly  grief,  and  even  his  Yankee  guard  looked 
serious  while  this  affecting  scene  passed  before  their 
eyes.     .     .     . 

May  16,  Tuesday. — Two  delightful  visitors  after 
tea,  Col.  Trenholm  [son  of  the  secretary  of  the 
treasury]  and  Mr.  Morgan,  of  the  navy,  who  is  to 
marry  his  sister. 

The  news  this  evening  is  that  we  have  all  got  to  take 
the  oath  of  allegiance  before  getting  married.  This 
horrid  law  caused  much  talk  in  our  rebellious  circle, 
and  the  gentlemen  laughed  very  much  when  Cora  said : 


256      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

"  Talk  about  dying  for  your  country,  but  what  is  that 
to  being  an  old  maid  for  it  ?  " 

The  chief  thought  of  our  men  now  is  how  to  embroil 
the  United  States  either  in  foreign  or  internal  commo- 
tions, so  that  we  can  rebel  again.  They  all  say  that 
if  the  Yankees  had  given  us  any  sort  of  tolerable  terms 
they  would  submit  quietly,  though  unwillingly,  to  the 
inevitable;  but  if  they  carry  out  the  abominable  pro- 
gramme of  which  flying  rumors  reach  us,  extermina- 
tion itself  will  be  better  than  submission.  Garnett  says 
that  if  it  comes  to  the  worst,  he  can  turn  bushwhacker, 
and  we  all  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  this  kind  of 
peace  continues,  bushwhacking  will  be  the  most  re- 
spectable occupation  in  which  a  man  can  engage.  Mr. 
Morgan  said,  with  a  lugubrious  smile,  that  his  most 
ambitious  hope  now  is  to  get  himself  hanged  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

May  17,  Wednesday. — Cora  has  a  letter  from  Mat- 
tie  [her  sister]  giving  a  very  pathetic  account  of  the 
passage  of  the  prisoners  through  Augusta.  She  says 
that  Telfair  St.  was  thronged  with  ladies,  all  weep- 
ing bitterly,  as  the  mournful  procession  passed  on,  and 
that  even  the  President's  Yankee  guard  seemed  touched 
by  the  exhibition  of  grief.  The  more  sensitive  may 
have  shut  themselves  up,  as  Mr.  Day  said,  but  I  am 
glad  some  were  there  to  testify  that  the  feeling  of  the 
South  is  still  with  our  fallen  President  and  to  shame 
with  their  tears  the  insulting  cries  of  his  persecutors. 

The  weather  was  very  threatening  and  cloudy  in 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  257 

the  afternoon. so  that  I  did  not  dress  as  much  as  usual, 
and,  of  course,  had  more  visitors  than  ever.  .  . 
Maria  Irvin  said  something  which  made  me  feel  very- 
uncomfortable.  I  was  sitting  across  the  room  from 
her,  and  she  told  me,  loud  enough  for  everybody  to 
hear,  that  the  first  evening  the  Yankees  arrived  in 
Washington,  they  were  heard  to  say  that  they  knew 
all  about  Judge  Andrews;  he  was  a  good  Union  man, 
and  they  liked  him.  At  my  side  was  Maj.  White,  an 
exile  from  Maryland,  whose  poor  down-trodden  State 
has  suffered  so  much,  and  I  thought  it  was  real  spite- 
ful in  her  to  be  throwing  up  father's  politics  to  me 
there,  so  I  flew  up  and  told  her  that  if  my  father  was 
a  Union  man  he  had  more  sons  in  the  Confederate 
army  than  hers  had,*  and  he  didn't  wait  till  the  war 
was  over,  like  so  many  other  people  that  I  knew,  to  ex- 
press his  Union  sentiments.  Father's  politics  distress 
me  a  great  deal,  but  nobody  shall  say  a  word  against 
him  where  I  am.  Poor,  dear  old  father,  everything  he 
said  in  the  beginning  has  come  true,  just  as  he  said  it 
would,  even  to  the  Confederacy  being  split  in  two 
by  an  invasion  through  Tennessee  or  Kentucky, — 
but  all  that  don't  make  me  love  the  ones  that  have 
brought  it  about  any  better. 

Johnston's  army  has  nearly  all  gone.  The  last  large 
body  of  troops  has  passed  through,  and  in  a  few  weeks 
even  the  stragglers  and  hangers-on  will  have  disap- 
peared.    There  have  been  no  camp  fires  in  our  grove 

*He  had  but  two— both  brave  Confederate  soldiers. 


258      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

since  Sunday,  but  five  of  the  dear  old  Rebs  are  sleeping 
in  our  corn-crib  to-night.  They  said  they  were  too 
dirty  to  come  into  the  house,  and  they  are  so  consid- 
erate that  they  would  not  even  sleep  in  an  out-house 
without  asking  permission.  Hundreds,  if  not  thou- 
sands of  them  have  camped  in  our  grove,  and  the  only 
damage  they  ever  did — if  that  can  be  called  a  damage, 
— was  to  burn  a  few  fence  rails.  In  the  whole  history 
of  war  I  don't  believe  another  instance  can  be  found 
of  so  little  mischief  being  committed  as  has  been  done 
by  these  disbanded,  disorganized,  poverty-stricken, 
starving  men  of  Lee's  and  Johnston's  armies.  Against 
the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  that  have  passed 
through  Washington,  the  worst  that  can  be  charged  is 
the  plundering  of  the  treasury  and  the  government 
stores,  and  as  they  would  have  gone  to  the  Yankees 
anyway,  our  men  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  taking 
whatever  they  could  get,  rather  than  let  it  go  to  the 
enemy.  They  were  on  their  way  to  far-distant  homes, 
without  a  cent  of  money  in  their  pockets  or  a  mouthful 
of  food  in  their  haversacks,  and  the  Confederate  stores 
had  been  collected  for  the  use  of  our  army,  and  were 
theirs  by  right,  anyway.  They  have  hardly  ever 
troubled  private  property,  except  horses  and  provender, 
and  when  we  think  of  the  desperate  situation  in  which 
they  were  left  after  the  surrender,  the  only  wonder  is 
that  greater  depredations  were  not  committed.  And 
at  the  worst,  what  is  the  theft  of  a  few  bundles  of  fod- 
der, or  even  of  a  horse,  compared  with  hanging  men 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  259 

up  on  a  slack  rope  and  poking  them  with  bayonets  to 
make  them  tell  where  their  valuables  were  hid;  or  to 
pulling  the  cover  off  a  sick  woman  as  the  Yankees  did 
that  one  at  Barnesville,  and  exposing  her  person  to 
make  sure  she  had  no  jewelry  or  money  concealed  in 
the  bed  with  her?  The  Northern  papers  are  full  of 
wild  stories  about  Southern  lawlessness,  though  every- 
body in  this  county  can  testify  that  the  two  or  three 
thousand  sleek,  well-fed  Yankee  troops  who  have  come 
here  to  take  "  peaceable  possession  "  of  the  country 
have  committed  ten  times  more  depredations  than  the 
whole  Confederate  army  during  its  march  into  Penn- 
sylvania. Some  of  them  broke  into  Col.  Tom  Willis's 
cellar  the  other  day,  and  when  they  had  drunk  as  much 
of  his  peach  brandy  as  they  could  hold,  they  spit  into 

the  rest  to  keep  the  "  d d  rebels  "  from  having  it. 

They  strut  about  the  streets  of  Washington  with  negro 
women  on  their  arms  and  sneak  around  into  people's 
kitchens,  tampering  with  the  servants  and  setting  them 
against  the  white  people.  Sometimes  the  more  respec- 
table negroes  themselves  are  disgusted  at  their  conduct. 
Mrs.  Irvin  says  her  old  cook  collared  one  the  other 
day  and  pushed  him  out  of  the  kitchen. 

I  was  greatly  touched  the  other  day  by  the  history 
of  a  little  boy,  not  much  bigger  than  Marshall,  whom 
I  found  in  the  back  yard  with  a  party  of  soldiers  that 
had  come  in  to  get  their  rations  cooked.  Metta  first 
noticed  him  and  asked  how  such  a  little  fellow  came  to 
be  in  the  army.     The  soldiers  told  us  that  his  father 


26o      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

had  gone  to  the  war  with  the  first  volunteers  from 
their  county,  and  had  never  been  heard  of  again,  after 
one  of  the  great  battles  he  was  in.  Then  the  mother 
died,  and  the  little  boy  followed  a  party  of  recruits 
who  took  him  along  with  them  for  a  "  powder 
monkey,"  and  he  had  been  following  them  around,  a 
sort  of  child  of  the  regiment,  ever  since. 

I  asked  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  now,  and  he 
answered :  "  I  am  going  to  Alabama  with  these  sol- 
diers, to  try  and  make  a  living  for  myself."  Poor 
little  fellow!  making  a  living  for  himself  at  an  age 
when  most  children  are  carefully  tucked  in  their  beds 
at  night  by  their  mothers,  and  are  playing  with  toys 
or  sent  to  school  in  the  daytime.  Metta  gave  him  a 
piece  of  sorghum  cake,  and  left  him  with  his  friends. 

May  1 8,  Thursday. — Aunt  Sallie  gave  a  dinner  to 
Gen.  and  Mrs.  Elzey.  Everybody  from  our  house 
was  invited  except  Cousin  Liza,  Metta,  and  me,  who 
were  left  out  like  children,  because  there  wasn't  room 
for  us  at  table.  We  were  so  delighted  at  being  spared 
the  responsibility  of  getting  up  a  dinner  ourselves,  that 
we  easily  relieved  the  old  lady's  fear  of  giving  offense 
by  leaving  us  out,  especially  as  she  sent  us  a  lot  of  good 
things  from  her  feast.  We  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  spare  our  poverty-stricken  larder, 
and  were  making  ourselves  merry  over  a  wretched 
dinner  of  ham  and  cornfield  peas,  when  Charity  said : 
"  Here  comes  Simon  with  a  waiter  from  Mis  Brown." 
The  table  looked  so  bare  and  doleful  that  Mett  made 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  261 

us  laugh  by  ordering  Charity,  before  we  sat  down,  to 

toll  the  dinner  bell,  and  Cousin  Liza,  as  she  took  her 

seat,  folded  her  hands  and  droned  in  a  camp-meeting 

tone: 

"  For  Oh  !  I  feel  an  aching  void 
That  ham  and  peas  can  never  fill." 

I  never  laughed  more  in  my  life,  and  the  arrival  of 
Aunt  Sallie's  generous  contribution  did  not  detract 
from  our  good  spirits. 

We  had  just  finished  eating  and  got  into  our  wrap- 
pers when  two  rebel  horsemen  came  galloping  up 
the  avenue  with  news  that  a  large  body  of  Yankee 
cavalry  was  advancing  down  the  Greensborough  road, 
plundering  the  country  as  they  passed.  We  hastily 
threw  on  our  clothes  and  were  busy  concealing  valu- 
ables for  father,  when  the  tramping  of  horses  and 
shouting  of  the  men  reached  our  ears.  Then  they 
began  to  pass  by  our  street  gate,  with  two  of  their  de- 
testable old  flags  flaunting  in  the  breeze.  I  ran  for  Gar- 
nett's  field-glass  and  watched  them  through  it.  Nearly 
all  of  them  had  bags  of  plunder  tied  to  their  saddles, 
and  many  rode  horses  which  were  afterwards  recog- 
nized as  belonging  to  different  planters  in  the  county. 
I  saw  one  rascal  with  a  ruffled  pillowcase  full  of 
stolen  goods,  tied  to  his  saddle,  and  some  of  them  had 
women's  drawers  tied  up  at  the  bottom  ends,  filled 
with  plunder  and  slung  astride  their  horses.  There 
was  a  regiment  of  negroes  with  them,  and  they  halted 
right  in  front  of  our  gate.     Think  of  it !     Bringing 


262      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

armed  negroes  here  to  threaten  and  insult  us!  We 
were  so  furious  that  we  shook  our  fists  and  spit  at 
them  from  behind  the  window  where  we  were  sitting. 
It  may  have  been  childish,  but  it  relieved  our  feelings. 
None  of  them  came  within  the  enclosure,  but  the 
officers  pranced  about  before  the  gate  until  I  felt  as 
if  I  would  like  to  take  a  shot  at  them  myself,  if  I  had 
had  a  gun,  and  known  how  to  use  it.  They  are 
camped  for  the  night  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and 
everybody  expects  to  be  robbed  before  morning.  Father 
loaded  his  two  guns,  and  after  the  servants  had  been 
dismissed,  we  hid  the  silver  in  the  hollow  by  the  chim- 
ney up  in  the  big  garret,  and  father  says  it  shall  not 
be  brought  out  again  till  the  country  becomes  more  set- 
tled. A  furious  storm  came  up  just  at  sunset,  and  I 
hope  it  will  confine  the  mongrel  crew  to  their  tents. 

May  19,  Friday. — The  storm  lasted  nearly  all  night, 
and  there  were  no  plunderers  abroad.  It  is  some  ad- 
vantage to  live  at  a  military  post  when  the  comman- 
dant is  a  man  like  Capt.  Abraham,  who,  from  all  ac- 
counts, seems  to  try  to  do  the  best  for  us  that  he  knows 
how.  Our  men  say  that  he  not  only  listens,  but  at- 
tends to  the  complaints  that  are  carried  to  him  by 
white  people  as  carefully  as  to  those  brought  by 
negroes.  The  other  day  a  Yankee  soldier  fired  into 
our  back  porch  and  came  near  killing  one  of  the  serv- 
ants. I  saw  a  batch  of  them  in  the  back  garden, 
where  the  shot  came  from,  and  sent  Henry  to  speak 
to  them,  but  they  swore  they  had  not  been  shooting. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  263 

Henry  knew  it  was  a  lie,  so  he  went  and  complained 
to  "  Marse  Lot,"  who  said  that  such  molestation  of 
private  families  should  be  stopped  at  once,  and  we  have 
not  heard  a  gun  fired  on  our  premises  since.  It  is  a 
pretty  pass,  though,  when  a  gentleman  can't  defend  his 
own  grounds,  but  has  to  cringe  and  ask  protection 
from  a  Yankee  master. 

Somebody  has  been  writing  in  the  "  Chronicle  & 
Sentinel  "  accusing  our  armies  of  dissolving  themselves 
into  bands  of  marauders.  I  am  surprised  that  any 
Southern  paper  should  publish  such  a  slander.  Of 
course,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  under  the  circum- 
stances, some  disorders  would  not  occur,  but  the  won- 
der is  there  have  been  so  few.  I  have  witnessed  the 
breaking  up  of  three  Confederate  armies;  Lee's  and 
Johnston's  have  already  passed  through  Washington, 
and  Gen.  Dick  Taylor's  is  now  in  transit,  but  all  these 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  disbanded,  disorganized, 
disinherited  Southerners  have  not  committed  one- 
twentieth  part  of  the  damage  to  private  property  that 
was  committed  by  the  first  small  squad  of  Yankee 
cavalry  that  passed  through  our  county.  We  are  be- 
ginning to  hear  from  all  quarters  of  the  depredations 
committed  by  the  regiments,  with  their  negro  fol- 
lowers, that  came  through  town  yesterday.  Their 
conduct  so  exasperated  the  people  that  they  were  bush- 
whacked near  Greensborough,  and  several  of  their 
men  wounded.  They  then  forced  the  planters  to  fur- 
nish   horses    and    vehicles    for    their    transportation. 


264      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Henry  says  that  one  of  their  own  officers  was  heard  to 
remark  on  the  square,  that  after  the  way  in  which  they 
had  behaved  he  could  not  blame  the  people  for  attack- 
ing them.  When  they  bring  negro  troops  among  us 
it  is  enough  to  make  every  man  in  the  Confederacy 
turn  bushwhacker. 

May  20,  Saturday. — Harry  Day  took  his  departure 
this  morning.  He  seems  to  have  enjoyed  his  visit 
greatly,  though  I  am  afraid  any  pleasure  he  may  have 
got  out  of  it  was  due  more  to  the  good  company  we 
have  in  the  house  than  to  the  merits  of  our  house- 
keeping; our  larder  is  about  down  to  a  starvation 
basis.     .     .     . 

Capt.  Hudson  and  Mrs.  Alfred  dimming  called 
after  breakfast,  and  while  we  were  in  the  parlor  with 
them,  a  servant  came  in  bringing  a  present  of  a  pet 
lamb  for  Marsh  from  Mrs.  Ben  Jordan.  Father 
laughed  and  said  it  was  like  sending  a  lamb  among 
hungry  wolves,  to  place  it  in  this  famished  household, 
and  Henry  suggested  that  we  make  a  general  massacre 
of  pets. 

May  21,  Sunday. — I  went  to  church  with  Mary  Day. 
Lot  Abraham  and  some  of  his  men  were  there.  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  what  an  accession  Lot  would 
have  been  if  he  had  brought  his  wife  and  come  among 
us  in  the  days  of  the  Confederacy,  when  salt  was  at 
such  a  premium.  He  is  a  big,  tall  fellow  from  Iowa, 
not  a  spindling  little  down-Easter.  Two  of  the  Yan- 
kees seated  themselves  in  the  pew  with  Charley  Irvin, 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  265 

who  instantly  rose  and  changed  his  seat.  The  others 
had  sense  enough  to  take  the  hint  and  confine  them- 
selves to  vacant  pews. 

Mr.  Adams  preached,  as  usual.  He  prayed  for  all 
prisoners  and  fugitives,  and  against  injustice  and  op- 
pression, though  in  guarded  language.  He  read  the 
Twenty-seventh  Psalm,  laying  marked  emphasis  on 
the  words :  "  False  witnesses  have  risen  up  against 
me. 

Capt.  Hudson  and  Gen.  Elzey  came  over  in  the 
evening  and  took  tea  with  us.  We  had  a  disgrace- 
fully poor  supper,  but  it  was  impossible  to  do  any 
better.  Capt.  Hudson  is  coming  to-morrow  to  stay 
at  our  house,  and  will  be  Garnett's  guest  till  he  can 
get  money  to  take  him  back  to  his  home  in  Virginia. 

While  walking  in  the  grove  after  dinner,  I  heard  a 
fine  band  playing  in  the  street.  I  turned  away  and 
tried  not  to  listen,  till  little  Marshall  called  to  me  that 
it  was  a  Confederate  band.  In  his  eagerness  to  hear,  he 
had  climbed  up  on  the  fence  and  sat  down  in  the  midst 
of  a  group  of  Yankee  soldiers  that  had  planted  them- 
selves there,  and  told  him  it  was  Confederate  music.  I 
made  him  get  down  and  go  back  to  the  house  with  me. 

May  22,  Monday. — No  visitors  all  day,  except  two 
of  father's  country  friends  who  came  in  to  dinner. 
In  the  afternoon  Mary  and  I  took  the  carriage  and 
made  some  calls  that  have  been  on  our  minds  a  long 
time.  Conversation  was  mostly  an  exchange  of  ex- 
periences.    We  have  suffered  much  less  in  town  where 

18 


266      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  soldiers  are  under  some  restraint,  than  the  people 
have  on  the  plantations.  The  garrison  are  insolent, 
and  annoy  housekeepers  by  their  familiarity  with  the 
servants,  and  at  the  same  time  they  are  hard  on  the 
negroes  that  work  for  them,  but  we  can  submit  to 
these  things  for  the  sake  of  the  protection  the  Iowa 
hoosier  tries  to  give  us.  On  account  of  father's  al- 
ways having  been  such  a  strong  Union  man,  he  is 
supposed  to  have  some  influence  with  our  new  masters, 
and  is  frequently  appealed  to  by  the  citizens  to  lay 
their  grievances  before  the  Yankee  commandant,  and 
so  he  has  become  pretty  well  acquainted  with  him  in  a 
business  way.  He  says  he  is  a  dreadful  vulgarian, 
but  seems  to  have  plenty  of  good  sense,  and  a  good 
heart.  I  suppose  he  is  a  Jew,  but  one  can't  always 
judge  by  names.  Two  of  the  most  infamous  wretches 
that  have  made  themselves  conspicuous  here  were 
named  "  Saint  "  and  "Angel."* 

May  23,  Tuesday. — In  bed  nearly  all  day.     Cousin 
Liza  read  aloud  to  entertain  me,  but  I  slept  through 

*  Looking  back  through  the  glass  of  memory,  I  see  no  reason  to 
dissent  from  my  father's  opinion  as  to  the  good  intentions  and 
general  uprightness  of  this  much-berated  Federal  officer,  and  I 
believe  it  would  now  be  the  general  verdict  of  the  people  over 
whom  he  was  called  to  exercise  "  a  little  brief  authority,"  that  he 
used  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability  in  the  interest  of  peace  and  justice. 
We  were  naturally  in  a  state  of  irritation  at  the  time,  against  all 
authority  imposed  upon  us  by  force,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  our 
first  master  under  the  hated  rule  of  the  conqueror  made  him  a 
target  for  the  "  undying  hate  to  Rome  "  that  rankled  in  every 
Southern  breast  and  converted  each  individual  Yankee  into  a  vica- 
rious black  sheep  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  nation. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  267 

most  of  it.  I  went  to  walk  in  the  afternoon  and  met 
John  Garnett  just  from  Albany,  and  he  says  the  Yan- 
kees are  behaving  better  in  South-West  Georgia  than 
anybody  expected.  This  makes  us  all  feel  very  much 
relieved  on  sister's  account. 

Capt.  Goldthwaite,  of  Mobile,  spent  the  night  at  our 
house.  He  comes  direct  from  Richmond  and  brings 
welcome  news  from  our  friends  there.  The  Elzeys 
spent  the  evening. 

May  24,  Wednesday. — Capt.  Abraham — the  right- 
eous Lot — and  his  garrison  left  town  this  morning,  and 
no  others  have  come  as  yet  to  take  their  place.  They 
were  much  disgusted  at  their  reception  here,  I  am 
told,  and  some  of  them  were  heard  to  declare  that 
there  was  not  a  pretty  woman  in  the  place.  No  won- 
der, when  the  only  ones  that  associated  with  them 
were  negroes.  They  had  two  negro  balls  while  they 
were  here,  the  white  men  dancing  with  the  negro 
women.  One  night  they  held  their  orgy  in  Bolton's 
Range,  and  kept  everybody  on  the  square  awake  with 
their  disgraceful  noise.  They  strutted  about  the 
streets  on  Sundays  with  negro  wenches  on  their  arms, 
and  yet  their  officers  complain  because  they  are  not 
invited  to  sit  at  the  tables  of  Southern  gentlemen ! 

We  took  tea  at  the  bank  with  the  Elzeys.  Maj. 
Hall  is  well  enough  to  be  out,  and  is  a  pleasant  addi- 
tion to  our  circle  of  friends. 

May  25,  Thursday. — But  few  callers  during  the  day. 
Our  gentlemen  dined  out.     Gen.  Elzey  has  been  led 


268      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  change  his  plan  of  going  to  Charlotte  in  a  wagon, 
by  news  of  the  robbery  of  the  Richmond  banks.  Five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  specie  had  been  secretly 
packed  and  shipped  from  this  place  back  to  Richmond, 
in  wagons,  but  the  train  was  waylaid  by  robbers  and 
plundered  between  here  and  Abbeville,  somewhere 
near  the  Savannah  River.  It  is  thought  they  mistook 
it  for  the  remains  of  the  Confederate  treasury.  A 
man  came  to  see  father  this  afternoon,  in  great  haste 
about  it,  but  there  is  small  hope  of  recovering  any- 
thing. The  whole  country  is  in  disorder  and  filled 
with  lawless  bands  that  call  themselves  rebels  or  Yan- 
kees, as  happens  to  suit  their  convenience.  They  say 
it  is  not  safe  for  a  person  to  go  six  miles  from  town 
except  in  company  and  fully  armed,  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  we  shall  be  safe  in  the  village,  the  negroes  are 
crowding  in  so.  "  Marse  "  Abraham  did  protect  us 
against  them,  in  a  way,  and  if  his  men  hadn't  tam- 
pered with  them  so,  I  shouldn't  be  sorry  to  see  him  back 
till  things  settle  down  a  little.  At  present  nobody 
dares  to  make  any  plans  for  the  future.  We  can  only 
wait  each  day  for  what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth. 
Oh,  we  are  utterly  and  thoroughly  wretched !  One 
of  the  latest  proposals  of  the  conquerors  is  to  make 
our  Confederate  uniform  the  dress  of  convicts.  The 
wretches!  As  if  it  was  in  the  power  of  man  to  dis- 
grace the  uniform  worn  by  Robert  E.  Lee  and  Stone- 
wall Jackson !  They  couldn't  disgrace  it,  even  if  they 
were  to  put  their  own  army  into  it. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  269 

May  26,  Friday. — Our  gentlemen  dined  out  again. 
I  took  a  ride  in  the  afternoon  with  Capt.  Hudson.  He 
rode  father's  horse,  "  Mr.  Ben,"  and  I  took  his  pony, 
"  Brickbat."  We  played  whist  after  supper,  but  I 
don't  like  cards,  and  it  was  stupid.  Some  of  the  bank 
robbers  have  been  caught,  and  $60,000  in  money  re- 
covered, but  the  prisoners  were  rescued  by  people  liv- 
ing in  that  part  of  the  county.  Gen.  Porter  Alexander 
took  some  of  the  old  Irvin  Artillery  and  went  out  to 
arrest  such  of  the  guilty  ones  as  could  be  found.  They 
caught  several  who  were  suspected,  but  while  the  sol- 
diers were  scattered  around  looking  for  others,  the 
Danburg  people  armed  themselves  and  made  a  rescue. 
All  the  money  and  plate  that  lives  through  these 
troublous  times  will  have  strange  histories  attached  to 
it.  One  man  had  $1,000  in  specie  which  he  went  out 
to  conceal  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  the  Yankees  were 
in  his  neighborhood.  Before  he  could  get  it  buried, 
he  heard  a  squad  of  horsemen  coming  down  the  road, 
so  he  threw  his  bag  of  money  over  a  hedge  to  get  it 
out  of  sight,  and  lo !  there  it  struck  a  skulking  Yankee 
pat  on  the  head!  This  is  the  tale  the  country  people 
tell,  but  so  many  wild  reports  are  flying  from  mouth  to 
mouth  that  one  never  knows  what  to  believe.  Where 
so  many  strange  things  are  happening  every  day, 
nothing  seems  incredible. 

May  27,  Saturday. — The  Gordons  and  Paces  are 
here  on  their  way  home  from  Virginia.  Nora  was  in 
Richmond  when  it  was  evacuated,  her  nurse  deserted 


270      THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

and  went  off  to  the  Yankees,  and  she  had  an  awful 
time  coming  out.  The  general  [John  B.  Gordon] 
dropped  in  to  see  us;  he  is  almost  heartbroken  over  the 
fall  of  the  Confederacy.  His  career  in  the  army  was 
so  brilliant,  no  wonder  he  feels  the  bitter  change  for 
himself  as  well  as  for  his  country. 

After  sitting  awhile  with  Nora  I  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Elzey  and  found  her  cutting  off  the  buttons  from  the 
general's  coat.  The  tyrants  have  prohibited  the  wear- 
ing of  Confederate  uniforms.  Those  who  have  no 
other  clothes  can  still  wear  the  gray,  but  must  rip  off 
the  buttons  and  decorations.  The  beautiful  Hunga- 
rian knot,  the  stars,  and  bars,  the  cords,  the  sashes,  and 
gold  lace,  are  all  disappearing.  People  everywhere 
are  ransacking  old  chests,  and  the  men  are  hauling  out 
the  old  clothes  they  used  to  wear  before  the  war,  and 
they  do  look  so  funny  and  old-fashioned,  after  the 
beautiful  uniforms  we  had  all  gotten  used  to !  But  the 
raggedest  soldier  of  the  Confederacy  in  his  shabby  old 
clothes  is  a  more  heroic  figure  in  my  eyes  than  any 
upstart  Yankee  officer  in  the  finest  uniform  he  can  get 
into.  Yet,  it  is  pitiful,  as  well  as  comical,  to  see  the 
poor  fellows  looking  so  dowdy.  I  feel  like  crying 
whenever  I  think  of  the  change  and  all  that  it  means. 
We  are  a  poverty-stricken  nation,  and  most  of  them 
are  too  poor  to  buy  new  clothes.  I  suppose  we  are 
just  now  at  the  very  worst  stage  of  our  financial  em- 
barrassments, and  if  we  can  manage  to  struggle 
through  the  next  five  or  six  months,  some  sort  of  cur- 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  271 

rency  will  begin  to  circulate  again.  I  have  clothes 
enough  to  bridge  over  the  crisis,  I  think,  but  mother's 
house  linen  is  hopelessly  short,  and  our  family  larder 
brought  down  to  the  last  gasp.  Father  has  a  little 
specie,  saved  from  the  sale  of  the  cotton  he  shipped  to 
Liverpool  before  the  war,  but  the  country  has  been  so 
drained  of  provisions  that  even  gold  cannot  buy  them. 
We  have  so  much  company  that  it  is  necessary  to  keep 
up  appearances  and  set  a  respectable  table,  which  Mett 
and  I  do,  after  a  fashion,  by  hard  struggling  behind 
the  scenes.  The  table  generally  looks  well  enough 
when  we  first  sit  down,  but  when  we  get  up  it  is  as  bare 
as  Jack  Sprat's.  We  have  some  good  laughs  at  the 
makeshifts  we  resort  to  for  making  things  hold  out. 
We  eat  as  little  as  we  can  do  with  ourselves,  but  we 
don't  want  father's  guests  to  suspect  that  we  are 
stinted,  so  Metta  pretends  to  a  loss  of  appetite,  while 
I  profess  a  great  fondness  for  whatever  happens  to  be 
most  abundant,  which  is  always  sure  to  be  cornfield 
peas,  or  some  other  coarse,  rank  thing  that  I  detest. 
It  would  all  be  very  funny,  if  it  were  not  so  mortify- 
ing, with  all  these  charming  people  in  the  house  that 
deserve  to  be  entertained  like  princes,  and  are  used  to 
having  everything  nice.  Metta's  delicate  appetite  and 
my  affection  for  cornfield  peas  are  a  standing  joke 
between  us.  She  has  the  best  of  it,  though,  for  she 
simply  starves,  while  I  "  nawsierate,"  as  Charity  says. 
I  make  a  face  at  the  bag  of  peas  whenever  I  go  near 
it  in  the  pantry.     I  don't  know  what  we  should  do  if 


272      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

it  was  not  for  Emily  and  Charity.  They  join  in  our 
consultations,  moan  over  our  difficulties,  and  carry  out 
our  plans  with  as  much  eagerness  as  old  Caleb  Balder- 
stone,  in  keeping  up  the  credit  of  the  family.  Who 
would  ever  have  believed  that  we  could  come  to  this? 
I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  I,  plotting  with  the  servants 
in  the  pantry  to  get  up  a  dinner  out  of  nothing,  like  the 
poor  people  I  read  about  in  books.  It  requires  a  great 
deal  of  management  to  find  time  for  both  parlor  and 
kitchen,  and  to  keep  my  manners  and  my  dress  un- 
ruffled. However,  Mett  and  I  find  so  much  to  laugh 
at  in  the  comedies  mixed  up  with  our  country's  tragedy 
that  it  keeps  us  in  a  good  humor.  Mother  don't  help 
us  much.  She  always  did  hate  the  worry  of  house- 
keeping, and  she  never  was  used  to  such  as  this.  .  .  . 
The  servants,  however,  are  treasures.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  those  who  went  to  the  Yankees,  they  all 
behave  better  and  work  harder  than  they  did  before. 
I  really  love  them  for  the  way  they  have  stood  by  us. 
May  28,  Sunday. — Nora  and  Mr.  Pace  spent  the 
evening  with  us,  and  Cousin  Boiling  and  the  Elzeys 
dropped  in,  making  quite  a  full  table.  Cousin  Boiling 
came  up  from  Cuthbert  to  visit  his  father's  family 
before  going  to  join  Cousin  Bessie  in  Memphis,  and 
will  be  obliged  to  stay  indefinitely  because  he  can't  get 
money  to  pay  his  way.  After  everybody  else  had 
gone,  he  and  Capt.  Hudson  staid  and  chatted  with  us 
a  long  time.  They  taught  us  some  thunderous  Ger- 
man words  to  say  when  we  feel  like  swearing  at  the 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  273 

Yankees,  because  Cpra  said  she  felt  like  doing  it  a 
dozen  times  a  day,  but  couldn't  because  she  was  a 
woman.      I    remember    this   much :    "  Potts-tousand- 

schock-schwer  an  oat "  and  my  brain  could  carry 

no  more.  I  don't  know  how  my  spelling  would  look  in 
German;  I  would  prefer  a  good,  round,  English 
"  damn  "  anyway,  if  I  dared  use  it.  A  fresh  batch  of 
Yankees  have  come  to  town  under  the  command  of 
a  Capt.  Schaeffer.  I  have  not  seen  any  of  them,  but 
I  know  they  are  frights  in  their  horrid  cavalry  uni- 
form of  blue  and  yellow.  It  is  the  ugliest  thing  I 
ever  saw;  looks  like  the  back  of  a  snake.  The  business 
of  these  newcomers,  it  is  said,  is  to  cram  their  nauseous 
oath  of  allegiance  down  our  throats. 

May  29,  Monday. — I  went  to  the  depot  to  see  Nora 
and  the  Gordons  off.  The  general  sent  me  his  love 
and  good-by  yesterday,  but  that  did  not  suffice.  I 
wanted  to  touch  again  the  brave  hand  that  has  struck 
so  many  blows  for  Southern  liberty.  He  is  a  splendid- 
looking  man,  and  the  very  pattern  of  chivalry.  Fanny 
Haralson  was  not  thought  to  have  done  much  of  a 
business  when  she  married  the  poor  young  lawyer  from 
the  mountains,  but  now  she  is  the  envy  of  womankind. 
I  wish  old  Mrs.  Haralson  could  have  lived  to  see  her 
son-in-law  a  lieutenant-general  in  the  bravest  army  the 
world  ever  saw;  it  would  have  brought  joy  unspeak- 
able to  her  proud  heart — as  who  would  not  be  proud 
of  such  a  son-in-law? 

From  the  depot  I  was  going  out  to  return  calls  with 


274     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Mary  Day,  but  Garnett  told  me  he  had  invited  the  El- 
zeys  to  dinner,  so  I  came  home  to  receive  them.  Capt. 
Hudson  brought  Cousin  Boiling,  and  we  had  a  pleasant 
little  party.  I  have  not  seen  people  enjoy  themselves 
so  much  since  our  country  fell  under  the  tyrant's  heel. 
Gen.  Elzey  was  really  merry,  and  I  was  delighted  to 
see  him  recovering  his  spirits,  for  he  has  been  the  pic- 
ture of  desolation  ever  since  the  crash  came.  I  love 
him  and  Mrs.  Elzey  better  than  almost  anybody  else 
outside  my  own  family.  Father,  too,  is  so  fond  of 
Mrs.  Elzey  that  he  laughs  at  her  fiery  rebel  talk,  no 
matter  how  hot  she  grows,  and  lets  her  say  what  he 
wouldn't  tolerate  in  the  rest  of  us.  Our  household  is 
divided  into  factions — we  out-and-out  rebels  being 
most  numerous,  but  the  Unionists  (father  and  mother) 
most  powerful;  the  "Trimmers"  neither  numerous 
nor  powerful,  but  best  adapted  to  scud  between  oppos- 
ing elements  and  escape  unhurt  by  either.  I  think 
mother  is  inclined  to  waver  sometimes  and  join  the 
rebels  through  sympathy  with  the  boys,  but  she  always 
sticks  to  father  in  the  long  run.  However,  we  did 
not  quarrel  at  all  to-day ;  we  Rebs  had  such  strong  re- 
enforcements  that  the  others  had  no  showing  at  all. 

We  had  a  good  dinner,  too — mock  turtle  soup,  bar- 
becued lamb,  and  for  dessert,  sponge  pudding  with 
cream  sauce,  and  boiled  custard  sweetened  with 
sugar — no  sorghum  in  anything.  I  have  not  seen  such 
a  feast  on  our  table  for  a  long  time,  and  we  all  ate 
like  ogres.     The  lamb,  alas!  was  the  pet  Mrs.  Jordan 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  275 

had  sent  Marsh.  It  was  mischievous,  eating  things 
in  the  garden,  and  we  too  near  starvation  to  let  go  any 
good  pretext  for  making  way  with  it,  so  Marsh  was 
persuaded  to  consent  to  the  slaughter  and  Garnett  took 
advantage  of  the  occasion  to  feast  his  friends,  and  the 
wolf  in  the  fable  never  fell  upon  his  victim  more 
ravenously  than  we  upon  poor  little  Mary  Lizzie,  as 
Mrs.  Jordan  had  christened  her  pet.  The  pudding 
and  boiled  custard  were  due  to  an  order  father  has 
sent  to  Augusta  for  groceries,  and  mother  felt  so  tri- 
umphant over  the  prospect  of  having  something  in  the 
pantry  again,  that  she  grew  reckless  and  celebrated 
the  event  by  using  up  all  the  sugar  she  had  in  the 
house.  There  was  plenty  of  everything,  so  Mett  re- 
covered her  appetite  and  I  suddenly  lost  my  fondness 
for  cornfield  peas. 

May  30,  Tuesday. — Rain  all  day,  but  we  had  a  jolly 
time,  nevertheless.  After  dinner  we  played  euchre, 
with  gingercakes  for  stakes,  and  when  the  bank  broke 
on  them,  descended  to  a  game  of  "  Muggins."  The 
captain  gave  us  all  mustaches,  and  we  put  on  hats  and 
coats  and  went  to  visit  Aunt  Sallie.  Mett  and  Henry 
fought  a  duel  with  popguns,  and  when  we  saw  Gen. 
Elzey  coming  up  the  avenue,  we  turned  our  popguns 
on  him,  till  at  last  father  said  we  were  getting  so  bois- 
terous he  had  to  call  us  to  order.  Gen.  Elzey  stayed 
to  tea,  and  Gardiner  Foster  dropped  in.  The  general 
wore  a  gray  coat  from  which  all  the  decorations  had 
been  ripped  off  and  the  buttons  covered  with  plain 


276      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

gray  cloth,  but  he  would  look  like  a  soldier  and  a  gen- 
tleman even  in  a  Boston  stove-pipe  hat,  or  a  suit  of 
Yankee  blue.  Some  of  our  boys  put  their  discarded 
buttons  in  tobacco  bags  and  jingle  them  whenever  a 
Yank  comes  within  earshot.  Some  will  not  replace 
them  at  all,  but  leave  their  coats  flying  open  to  tell  the 
tale  of  spoliation.  Others  put  ridiculous  tin  and  horn 
buttons  on  their  military  coats.  The  majority,  how- 
ever, especially  the  older  ones,  submit  in  dignified 
silence  to  the  humiliating  decree.  Old-fashioned  citi- 
zen's suits  that  were  thrown  aside  four  years  ago  are 
now  brought  out  of  their  hiding-places,  and  the  dear 
old  gray  is  rapidly  disappearing  from  the  streets.  Men 
look  upon  our  cause  as  hopelessly  lost,  and  all  talk  of 
the  Trans-Mississippi  and  another  revolution  has 
ceased.  Within  the  last  three  weeks  the  aspect  of  af- 
fairs has  changed  more  than  three  years  in  ordinary 
times  could  have  changed  it.  It  is  impossible  to  write 
intelligibly  even  about  what  is  passing  under  one's 
eyes,  for  what  is  true  to-day  may  be  false  to-morrow. 
The  mails  are  broken  up  so  that  we  can  send  letters 
only  as  chance  offers,  by  private  hand,  and  the  few 
papers  we  get  are  published  under  Yankee  censorship, 
and  reveal  only  what  the  tyrants  choose  that  we  shall 
know. 

May  31,  Wednesday. — Out  nearly  all  day,  returning 
calls  with  Mary  Day.  She  is  very  delicate,  and  does 
not  care  much  for  general  society,  but  we  have  so  many 
pleasant  people  in  the  house  that  it  is  never  dull  here. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  277 

She  plays  divinely  on  the  piano,  and  her  music  adds  a 
great  deal  to  the  pleasure  of  the  household. 

The  newcomers  under  Capt.  Schaeffer  seem  to  be  as 
fond  of  our  grove  as  were  Capt.  Abraham's  men. 
Some  of  them  are  always  strolling  about  there,  and 
this  morning  two  of  them  came  to  the  house  and  asked 
to  borrow  'Ginny  Dick's  fiddle !  I  suppose  they  are 
going  to  imitate  their  predecessors  in  giving  negro 
balls.  Abraham's  men  danced  all  night  with  the  odor- 
ous belles,  and  it  is  said  the  "  righteous  Lot  "  himself 
was  not  above  bestowing  his  attentions  on  them.  I 
hope  Dick  will  have  more  self-respect  than  to  play  for 
any  such  rabble.  He  always  was  a  good  negro,  except 
that  he  can't  let  whisky  alone  whenever  there  is  a 
chance  to  get  it.  Poor  darkeys,  they  are  the  real  vic- 
tims of  the  war,  after  all.  The  Yankees  have  turned 
their  poor  ignorant  heads  and  driven  them  wild  with 
false  notions  of  freedom.  I  have  heard  several  well- 
authenticated  instances  of  women  throwing  away  their 
babies  in  their  mad  haste  to  run  away  from  their  homes 
and  follow  the  Northern  deliverers.  One  such  case, 
Capt.  Abraham  himself  told  father  he  saw  in  Missis- 
sippi. Another  occurred  not  a  mile  from  this  town, 
where  a  runaway,  hotly  pursued  by  her  master,  threw 
an  infant  down  in  the  road  and  sped  on  to  join  the 
"  saviors  of  her  race,"  with  a  bundle  of  finery  clasped 
tightly  in  her  arms.  Our  new  ruler  is  as  little  dis- 
posed to  encourage  them  in  running  away  as  was 
"  Marse  Lot,"  but  their  heads  have  been  so  turned  by 


278      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  idea  of  living  without  work  that  their  owners  are 
sometimes  obliged  to  turn  them  off,  and  when  they 
run  away  of  their  own  accord,  they  are  not  permitted 
to  come  back  and  corrupt  the  rest.  In  this  way  they 
are  thrown  upon  the  Yankees  in  such  numbers  that 
they  don't  know  what  to  do  with  them,  and  turn  the 
helpless  ones  loose  to  shift  for  themselves.  They  are 
so  bothered  with  them,  that  they  will  do  almost  any- 
thing to  get  rid  of  them.  In  South-West  Georgia, 
where  there  are  so  many,  they  keep  great  straps  to 
beat  them  with.  Mrs.  Stowe  need  not  come  South  for 
the  Legree  of  her  next  novel.  Yankees  always  did 
make  notoriously  hard  masters;  I  remember  how 
negroes  used  to  dread  being  hired  to  them,  before  the 
war,  because  they  worked  them  so  hard. 

The  great  armies  have  about  all  passed  through,  and 
now  are  coming  the  sick  from  the  hospitals  and 
prisons,  poor  fellows,  straggling  towards  their  homes. 
They  often  stop  to  rest  in  the  cool  shade  of  our  grove, 
and  the  sight  of  their  gray  coats,  no  matter  how  ragged 
and  dirty,  is  refreshing  to  my  eyes.  Two  Missourians 
came  to  the  house  yesterday  morning  for  breakfast, 
and  mother  filled  them  up  with  everything  good  she 
could  find,  and  packed  them  up  a  generous  lunch  be- 
sides. She  is  a  better  rebel  than  she  thinks  herself, 
after  all.  If  anybody  in  the  world  does  merit  good 
usage  from  all  Southerners,  it  is  these  brave  Missou- 
rians, who  sacrificed  so  much  for  our  cause,  in  which 
they  had  so  little  at  stake  for  themselves. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  279 


CHAPTER  VI 

FORESHADOWINGS    OF   THE    RACE    PROBLEM 

June  1 — July  16,   1865 

Explanatory  Note. — I  would  gladly  have  left  out  the 
family  dissensions  about  politics  with  which  this  and  the 
preceding  chapter  abound,  could  it  have  been  done  con- 
sistently with  faithfulness  to  the  original  narrative 
which  I  have  sought  to  maintain  in  giving  to  the  public 
this  contemporary  record  of  the  war  time.  It  is  due  to 
my  father's  memory,  however,  to  say  that  his  devotion 
to  the  Union  was  not  owing  to  any  want  of  sympathy 
with  his  own  section,  but  to  his  belief  that  the  interests 
of  the  South  would  be  best  served  by  remaining  under 
the  old  flag.  No  man  was  ever  in  more  hearty  accord 
with  our  civilization  and  institutions  than  he.  The  ques- 
tion with  him  was  not  whether  these  ought  to  be  pre- 
served, but  by  what  means  their  safety  could  best  be 
assured.  His  judgment  told  him  that  secession  must 
inevitably  be  a  failure,  in  any  case.  Even  could  we  have 
held  our  own  in  the  face  of  the  overwhelming  odds 
against  us,  and  established  our  independence,  he  believed 
that  the  disintegrating  forces  of  inter-state  jealousies  and 
the  intrigues  of  self-seeking  politicians  would  soon  have 
dissolved  the  bonds  of  a  loosely-organized  confederation, 
based  on  the  right  of  secession,  and  left  us  in  the  end, 
broken  and  divided,  at  the  mercy  of  our  powerful  cen- 
tralized neighbor.  I  think,  too,  his  common  sense  told 
him  that  slavery  was  bound  to  go,  sooner  or  later,  and  if 


28o      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

emancipation  must  come,  it  would  be  better  that  it  should 
take  place  peacefully  and  by  carefully  prearranged  steps 
than  with  the  violence  and  unreason  which  he  foresaw 
were  sure  to  follow  in  case  of  war.  He  was  a  large  slave- 
holder himself,  and  honestly  believed,  like  most  of  his 
class,  that  a  condition  of  mild  servitude  secured  by  strict 
regulations  against  abuses,  was  the  best  solution  of  the 
"  negro  problem  "  bequeathed  us  by  our  ancestors.  We 
were  in  the  position  of  the  man  who  had  the  bull  by 
the  horns  and  couldn't  let  loose  if  he  wanted  to,  for  fear 
of  being  gored.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  dangers  and  diffi- 
culties that  beset  this  course,  his  pride  and  faith  in  the 
future  of  the  great  republic  his  father  had  fought  for, 
were  so  great,  that  if  forced  to  choose,  he  would  have 
preferred  emancipation,  under  proper  safeguards,  rather 
than  disruption  of  the  Union. 

But  while  he  believed  that  peaceable  and  gradual  eman- 
cipation would  have  been  a  lesser  evil  than  disunion,  he 
was  bitterly  and  unalterably  opposed  to  negro  suffrage, 
and  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  of  all  the  evils  brought 
upon  us  by  the  war.  He  used  to  say  in  the  early  days, 
when  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing  first  began  to  be 
talked  of  among  us,  that  it  would  be  better  to  concede 
everything  else,  and  accept  any  terms  we  could  get,  no 
matter  how  hard,  provided  this  one  thing  could  be  averted, 
than  risk  the  danger  of  provoking  the  North,  by  useless 
resistance,  to  employ  this  deadliest  weapon  in  the  armory 
of  strife  to  crush  us.  Such  advice  was  unpopular  at  the 
time,  but  it  was  a  mere  question  of  policy.  He  deplored 
the  misfortunes  of  the  South  as  much  as  anybody;  we 
differed  only  in  our  opinion  as  to  who  was  to  blame 
for  them,  and  how  they  were  to  be  remedied.  We  laid 
all  our  sufferings  at  the  door  of  the  hated  Yankees ;  he 
blamed  the  authors  of  the  secession  movement — "  the  fool 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  281 

secessionists,"  he  used  to  call  them,  when  angry  or  heated 
by  contradiction,  but  more  commonly,  "  the  poor  fools," 
in  a  tone  of  half-pitying  rebuke,  just  as  he  had  spoken  of 
them  on  that  memorable  night  when  the  bells  were  ringing 
for  the  secession  of  his  State. 

It  was  probably  his  warmth  in  advocating  this  policy  to 
"  agree  with  the  adversary  quickly  "  lest  a  worse  thing 
should  befall  us  by  delay,  that  led  to  his  action  at  the 
public  meeting  referred  to  in  the  text.  What  was  said  and 
done  on  that  occasion,  and  the  substance  of  the  resolutions 
that  gave  such  offense,  I  know  no  more  to  this  day  than 
when  the  account  in  the  journal  was  penned.  The  sub- 
ject was  never  alluded  to  between  us  and  our  father. 
Whether  the  course  of  events  would  have  been  altered 
if  counsels  such  as  his  had  prevailed,  no  one  can  tell. 
The  passion  and  fury  of  the  time  were  not  favorable  to 
moderation,  and  the  fatal  mistake  was  made,  that  has 
petrified  the  fifteenth  amendment  in  our  national  consti- 
tution, and  injected  a  race  problem  into  our  national  life. 
There  it  stands  to-day,  a  solid  wedge  of  alien  material 
cleaving  the  heart  wood  of  our  nation's  tree  of  life,  and 
throwing  the  dead  weight  of  its  impenetrable  mass  on 
whatever  side  its  own  interest  or  passion,  or  the  influence 
of  designing  politicians  may  direct  it. 


June  1,  Thursday. — I  dressed  up  in  my  best,  intend- 
ing to  celebrate  the  Yankee  fast  by  going  out  to  pay 
some  calls,  but  I  had  so  many  visitors  at  home  that 
I  did  not  get  out  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  I  am  sorry 
enough  that  Lincoln  was  assassinated,  Heaven  knows, 
but  this  public  fast  is  a  political  scheme  gotten  up  to 

19 


282      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

throw  reproach  on  the  South,  and  I  wouldn't  keep  it 
if  I  were  ten  times  as  sorry  as  I  am. 

The  "  righteous  Lot  "  has  come  back  to  town.  It 
is  uncertain  whether  he  or  Capt.  Schaeffer  is  to  reign 
over  us;  we  hope  the  latter.  He  is  said  to  be  a  very 
gentlemanly-looking  person,  and  above  associating 
with  negroes.  His  men  look  cleaner  than  the  other 
garrison,  but  Garnett  saw  one  of  them  with  a  lady's 
gold  bracelet  on  his  arm.  which  shows  what  they  are 
capable  of.  I  never  look  at  them,  but  always  turn 
away  my  head,  or  pull  down  my  veil  when  I  meet  any 
of  them.  The  streets  are  so  full  of  negroes  that  I 
don't  like  to  go  out  when  I  can  help  it,  though  they 
seem  to  be  behaving  better  about  Washington  than  in 
most  other  places.  Capt.  Schaeffer  does  not  encour- 
age them  in  leaving  their  masters,  still,  many  of  them 
try  to  play  at  freedom,  and  give  themselves  airs  that 
are  exasperating.  The  last  time  I  went  on  the  street, 
two  great,  strapping  wenches  forced  me  off  the  side- 
walk. I  could  have  raised  a  row  by  calling  for  pro- 
tection from  the  first  Confederate  I  met,  or  making 
complaint  at  Yankee  headquarters,  but  would  not  stoop 
to  quarrel  with  negroes.  If  the  question  had  to  be 
settled  by  these  Yankees  who  are  in  the  South,  and  see 
the  working  of  things,  I  do  not  believe  emancipation 
would  be  forced  on  us  in  such  a  hurry;  but  unfortu- 
nately, the  government  is  in  the  hands  of  a  set  of  crazy 
abolitionists,  who  will  make  a  pretty  mess,  meddling 
with  things  they  know  nothing  about.     Some  of  the 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  283 

Yankee  generals  have  already  been  converted  from 
their  abolition  sentiments,  and  it  is  said  that  Wilson 
is  deviled  all  but  out  of  his  life  by  the  negroes  in 
South-West  Georgia.  In  Atlanta,  Judge  Irvin  says 
he  saw  the  corpses  of  two  dead  negroes  kicking  about 
the  streets  unburied,  waiting  for  the  public  ambulance 
to  come  and  cart  them  away. 

June  4,  Sunday. — Still  another  batch  of  Yankees, 
and  one  of  them  proceeded  to  distinguish  himself  at 
once,  by  "  capturing  "  a  negro's  watch.  They  carry 
out  their  principles  by  robbing  impartially,  without  re- 
gard to  "  race,  color,  or  previous  condition."  'Ginny 
Dick  has  kept  his  watch  and  chain  hid  ever  since  the 
bluecoats  put  forth  this  act  of  philanthropy,  and 
George  Palmer's  old  Maum  Betsy  says  that  she  has 
"  knowed  white  folks  all  her  life,  an'  some  mighty 
mean  ones,  but  Yankees  is  de  fust  ever  she  seed  mean 
enough  to  steal  fum  niggers."  Everybody  suspected 
that  mischief  was  afoot,  as  soon  as  the  Yankees  began 
coming  in  such  force,  and  they  soon  fulfilled  expecta- 
tions by  going  to  the  bank  and  seizing  $100,000  in 
specie  belonging  to  one  of  the  Virginia  banks,  which 
the  Confederate  cavalrymen  had  restored  as  soon  as 
they  found  it  was  private  property.  They  then  ar- 
rested the  Virginia  bank  officers,  and  went  about  town 
"  pressing  "  people's  horses  to  take  them  to  Danburg, 
to  get  the  "  robbers  "  and  the  rest  of  the  money,  which 
they  say  is  concealed  there.  One  of  the  men  came  to 
our  house  after  supper,  while  we  were  sitting  out  on 


284      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

the  piazza,  and  just  beginning  to  cool  off  from  a  furi- 
ous political  quarrel  we  had  had  at  the  table.  Father 
could  not  see  very  well  without  his  glasses,  and  mis- 
took him  for  a  negro  and  ordered  him  off — an  error 
which  I  took  care  not  to  correct.  He  then  made  his 
errand  known,  and  produced  an  order  from  Capt. 
Abraham  for  father's  carriage  horses.  Garnett  and 
Capt.  Hudson  quickly  moved  towards  him,  ready  to 
resist  any  insolence.  He  was  mighty  civil,  however, 
and  tried  to  enter  into  conversation  by  remarking 
upon  the  pleasantness  of  the  weather,  but  people  about 
to  be  robbed  of  their  carriage  horses  are  not  in  a  mood 
for  seeing  the  pleasant  side  of  things  and  nobody  took 
any  notice  of  him,  except  old  Toby,  who  is  too  sensible 
a  dog  and  too  good  a  Confederate  to  tolerate  the 
enemies  of  his  country.  I  don't  know  how  father  and 
Garnett  managed  it,  but  the  fellow  finally  went  off 
without  the  horses,  followed  by  a  parting  growl  from 
Toby. 

After  this  interruption  we  resumed  our  conversa- 
tion, and  became  so  much  interested  that  father,  Gar- 
nett, Capt.  Hudson,  and  I  sat  up  till  twelve  o'clock, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  Mett  and  Mary  Day,  who  were 
trying  to  sleep,  in  rooms  overlooking  the  piazza.  It 
was  not  politics,  this  time,  either,  but  the  relative  merits 
of  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
much  better  if  we  would  stick  to  peaceful  encounters 
of  this  sort  instead  of  the  furious  political  battles  we 
have,  which  always  end  in  fireworks,  especially  when 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  285 

Henry  and  I  cross  swords  with  father — two  hot-heads 
against  one. 

June  5,  Monday. — Went  to  call  on  Mrs.  Elzey  with 
some  of  our  gentlemen,  and  talk  over  plans  for  a 
moonlight  picnic  on  Thursday  or  Friday  night;  then 
to  see  Mrs.  Foreman,  and  from  there  to  the  Alexan- 
ders. On  my  return  home,  found  Porter  Alexander 
in  the  sitting-room,  and  Garnett  came  in  soon  after 
with  Gen.  Elzey,  who  staid  to  dinner.  Mother  was 
dining  out,  but  fortunately  I  had  a  good  dinner — 
mock  turtle  soup,  mutton  chops,  roast  lamb  with  mint 
sauce,  besides  ham  and  vegetables.  After  dinner,  I 
had  just  stretched  myself  on  the  bed  for  a  nap,  when 
Jim  Bryan  was  announced,  and  before  I  had  finished 
dressing  to  go  downstairs,  Garnett  sent  word  that  he 
had  invited  a  party  of  Confederate  officers,  on  their 
way  back  to  Virginia  from  various  points  where  they 
had  been  stranded,  to  take  supper  with  us.  Only  two 
of  them  came,  however,  Maj.  Hallet,  a  very  boyish- 
looking  fellow  for  a  major,  and  Capt.  Selden,  a  very 
handsome  man,  and  as  charming  as  he  was  good-look- 
ing. The  others  wouldn't  come  because  they  said  they 
were  too  ragged  and  disreputable  to  go  where  ladies 
were.  Captain  Selden  said  they  hadn't  twenty-five 
cents  among  them,  and  told  some  very  funny  stories 
of  their  pinching  and  scheming  to  make  their  way 
without  money.  "  We  have  been  flanking  hotels  ever 
since  we  left  Macon,"  he  said  with  a  laugh,  and  I  was 
so  glad  we  had  the  remains  of  our  good  dinner  to  give 


286      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

them.  Maj.  Hallet  said  he  staid  in  Macon  four  weeks 
after  he  got  his  discharge  trying  to  raise  money  enough 
to  pay  his  fare  home,  but  couldn't  clear  50c,  and 
Garnett  consoled  him  by  confessing  that  he  had  just 
had  to  beg  father  for  a  quarter  to  pay  the  barber. 
Then  Mett  and  I  related  some  of  our  house-keeping 
difficulties,  including  poor  "  Mary  Lizzie's "  tragic 
end,  which  raised  shouts  of  laughter — and  we  didn't 
tell  the  worst,  either.  It  seems  strange  to  think  how 
we  laugh  and  jest  now,  over  things  that  we  would 
once  have  thought  it  impossible  to  live  through.  We 
are  all  poor  together,  and  nobody  is  ashamed  of  it. 
We  live  from  hand  to  mouth  like  beggars.  Father 
has  sent  to  Augusta  for  a  supply  of  groceries,  but  it 
will  probably  be  a  week  or  more  before  they  get  here, 
and  in  the  meantime,  all  the  sugar  and  coffee  we  have 
is  what  Uncle  Osborne  brings  in.  He  hires  himself 
out  by  the  day  and  takes  his  wages  in  whatever  provi- 
sions we  need  most,  and  hands  them  to  father  when  he 
comes  home  at  night.  He  is  such  a  good  carpenter 
that  he  is  always  in  demand,  and  the  Yankees  them- 
selves sometimes  hire  him.  Father  says  that  except 
Big  Henry  and  Long  Dick  and  old  Uncle  Jacob,  he  is 
the  most  valuable  negro  he  ever  owned.* 


*  The  end  of  this  good  old  negro  is  a  pathetic  example  of  the 
unavoidable  tragedies  that  have  so  often  followed  the  severing  of 
the  old  ties  between  master  and  servant  throughout  the  South. 
For  some  years  he  prospered  and  became  the  owner  of  a  comfort- 
able home  of  his  own.  When  sickness  and  old  age  overtook  him, 
my  father  invited  him  to  come  and  eat  from  his  kitchen  as  long 


PSHS^SHSSSHSHSiSH^^^HS  .?'^"rp^^J^g?'^cr->'T7»«7?^"T^tTP':^"^":r=»^  2S^=~ JS^jeiSHS^S 


Lieut,  ("afterwards  Col.) 
Garnett  Andrews.  1863 


Capt.  Henry  Irwin, 


A   GROUP   OF   CONFEDERATE   OFFICERS 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  287 

A  Yankee  came  this  morning  before  breakfast  and 
took  one  of  father's  mules  out  of  the  plow.  He 
showed  an  order  from  "  Marse  "  Abraham  and  said 
he  would  bring  the  mule  back,  but  of  course  we  never 
expect  to  see  it  again.  I  peeped  through  the  blinds, 
and  such  a  looking  creature,  I  thought,  would  be  quite 
capable  of  burning  Columbia.  Capt.  Schaeffer  seems 
to  be  a  more  respectable  sort  of  a  person  than  some  of 
the  other  officers.  He  not  only  will  not  descend  to  asso- 
ciate with  negroes  himself,  but  tries  to  keep  his  men 
from  doing  it,  and  when  runaways  come  to  town,  he 
either  has  them  thrashed  and  sent  back  home,  or  put 
to  work  on  the  streets  and  made  to  earn  their  rations. 
The  "  righteous  Lot  "  too,  to  do  him  justice,  does  try 
to  restrain  their  insolence  on  the  streets,  but  mammy, 
who  hears  all  the  negro  news,  says  he  went  to  their 
balls  and  danced  with  the  black  wenches!     And  yet, 


as  he  lived.  It  was  not  advisable  to  send  him  food  at  his  home, 
because  he  had  become  weak-minded,  and  there  could  be  no 
assurance  that  the  charity  intended  for  him  would  not  be  appro- 
priated by  idlers  and  hangers-on.  He  came  to  us  regularly  for  a 
year  or  two,  only  missing  a  day  now  and  then,  on  account  of 
sickness  or  bad  weather.  At  last,  he  failed  to  appear  for  a  longer 
time  than  usual,  and  on  inquiring  at  his  home,  it  was  found  that 
he  had  not  been  seen  there  since  he  started  out,  several  days 
before,  for  his  accustomed  visit  to  "  old  marster's  kitchen."  Search 
was  then  made  and  his  dead  body  found  in  a  wood  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village.  He  had  probably  been  seized  with  a  sudden 
attack  of  some  sort,  and  had  wandered  off  and  lost  his  way  look^ 
ing  for  the  old  home.  It  was  a  source  of  bitter  regret  to  my  father, 
and  to  us  all,  that  his  faithfulness  and  devotion  should  have  met 
with  no  better  reward. 


288      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

these  "  conquering  heroes  "  have  the  face  to  complain 
because  they  are  not  admitted  to  our  homes — as  if  we 
would  stoop  to  share  their  attentions  with  our  negro 
maids,  even  if  there  was  not  a  yawning  gulf  of  blood 
between  us  and  them !  People  are  so  outraged  at  the 
indecent  behavior  going  on  in  our  midst  that  many 
good  Christians  have  absented  themselves  from  the 
Communion  Table  because  they  say  they  don't  feel  fit 
to  go  there  while  such  bitter  hatred  as  they  feel  to- 
wards the  Yankees  has  a  place  in  their  hearts.  The 
Methodists  have  a  revival  meeting  going  on,  and  last 
night  one  of  our  soldier  boys  went  up  to  be  prayed  for, 
and  a  Yankee  went  up  right  after  and  knelt  at  his  side. 
The  Reb  was  so  overcome  by  his  emotions  that  he 
didn't  know  a  Yankee  was  kneeling  beside  him  till  Mr. 
Norman  alluded  to  it  in  his  prayer,  when  he  spoke  of 
the  "  lamb  and  the  lion  "  lying  down  together.  But  the 
congregation  don't  seem  to  have  been  greatly  edified 
by  the  spectacle.  Some  of  the  boys  who  were  there 
told  me  they  were  only  sorry  to  see  a  good  Confed- 
erate going  to  heaven  in  such  bad  company.  It  is 
dreadful  to  hate  anybody  so,  and  I  do  try  sometimes 
to  get  these  wicked  feelings  out  of  my  heart,  but  as 
soon  as  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  like  a  Christian,  I  hear 
of  some  new  piece  of  rascality  the  Yankees  have  done 
that  rouses  me  up  to  white  heat  again. 

June  6,  Tuesday. — Strange  to  say  the  Yankee 
brought  back  father's  mule  that  was  taken  yesterday — 
which  Garnett  says  is  pretty  good  evidence  that  it 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  289 

wasn't  worth  stealing.  They  caught  five  of  the  men 
accused  of  being  implicated  in  the  bank  robbery,  and 
brought  them  to  Washington,  but  they  have  every  one 
escaped,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  would  like  to  see  the 
guilty  ones  punished,  of  course,  but  not  by  a  military 
tribunal  with  no  more  regard  for  law  and  justice  than 
these  Yankee  courts  have,  where  negro  evidence  counts 
against  white  people  just  as  much,  if  not  more,  than 
a  white  man's. 

They  did  not  find  any  of  the  treasure,  and  I  am  glad 
of  that,  too,  for  if  the  proper  owners  don't  get  it,  I 
would  rather  Southern  robbers  should  have  it  than 
Yankee  ones.  They  are  making  a  great  ado  in  their 
Northern  newspapers,  about  the  "  robbing  of  the  Vir- 
ginia banks  by  the  Confederates  "  but  not  a  word  is 
said  in  their  public  prints  about  the  $300,000  they 
stole  from  the  bank  at  Greenville,  S.  C.,  nor  the  thou- 
sands they  have  taken  in  spoils  from  private  houses, 
as  well  as  from  banks,  since  these  angels  of  peace 
descended  upon  us.  They  have  everything  their  own 
way  now,  and  can  tell  what  tales  they  please  on  us,  but 
justice  will  come  yet.  Time  brings  its  revenges, 
though  it  may  move  but  slowly.  Some  future  Motley 
or  Macaulay  will  tell  the  truth  about  our  cause,  and 
some  unborn  Walter  Scott  will  spread  the  halo  of 
romance  around  it.  In  all  the  poems  and  romances 
that  shall  be  written  about  this  war,  I  prophesy  that 
the  heroes  will  all  be  rebels,  or  if  Yankees,  from  some 
loyal  Southern  State.     The  bare  idea  of  a  full-blown 


290      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Yankee  hero  or  heroine  is  preposterous.  They  made 
no  sacrifices,  they  suffered  no  loss,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing on  their  side  to  call  up  scenes  of  pathos  or  heroism. 

This  afternoon  our  premises  were  visited  by  no  less 
a  person  than  the  "  righteous  Lot  "  himself,  who  came 
to  inspect  Capt.  Parker's  boxes,  which  he  pronounced 
to  be  Confederate  property. 

I  had  been  out  plum  hunting  with  the  children,  and 
was  up  in  my  room,  changing  my  dress  when  he  came, 
and  I  couldn't  help  feeling  "  riled  " — there  is  no  other 
word  that  expresses  it — when  I  peeped  through  the 
blinds  and  saw  him  breaking  open  and  prying  into 
these  poor  little  relics  of  the  Confederacy.  It  seemed 
like  desecrating  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

Still  another  batch  of  Yankees,  on  this  afternoon's 
train,  and  our  men  say  their  commander  promises 
better  than  even  Schaeffer.  They  say  he  looks  like  a 
born  gentleman,  while  Schaeffer  was  nothing  but  a 
tailor  when  he  went  into  the  army.  A  precious  lot  of 
plebeians  they  are  sending  among  us!  It  is  thought 
this  last  comer  will  rule  over  us  permanently,  but  they 
make  so  many  changes  that  no  one  can  tell  who  is  to  be 
the  next  lord  paramount.  There  must  surely  be  some- 
thing in  the  wind,  they  are  gathering  here  in  such 
numbers.  I  feel  uneasy  about  Gen.  Toombs,  who,  not 
more  than  a  week  ago,  was  still  in  the  county. 

June  7,  Wednesday. — I  started  out  soon  after  break- 
fast and  got  rid  of  several  duty  visits  to  old  ladies  and 
invalids.     There  is  certainly  something  in  the  air.  The 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  291 

town  is  fuller  of  bluecoats  than  I  have  seen  it  in  a  long 
time.  I  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  meeting  a  squad 
of  them,  but  as  I  heard  some  of  them  make  remarks 
upon  my  action,  and  didn't  wish  to  do  anything  that 
would  attract  their  notice,  I  bulged  right  through  the 
midst  of  the  next  crowd  I  met,  keeping  my  veil  down 
and  my  parasol  raised,  and  it  wouldn't  have  broken  my 
heart  if  the  point  had  punched  some  of  their  eyes  out. 
While  we  were  at  dinner  Gardiner  Foster  and  Sallie 
May  Ford  came  in  from  Augusta,  and  left  immedi- 
ately after  for  Elberton.  They  say  that  when  the 
prayer  for  the  President  of  the  United  States  was  read 
for  the  first  time  in  St.  Paul's  Church,  not  a  single 
response  was  heard,  but  when  Mr.  Clarke  read  the 
"  Prayer  for  Prisoners  and  Captives,"  there  was  a 
perfect  storm  of'"  Amens." 

While  we  were  at  dinner  the  faithful  Abraham 
came  with  a  wagon  to  carry  off  Capt.  Parker's  boxes, 
and  father  sent  a  servant  out  and  invited  him  to  a  seat 
on  the  piazza  till  he  could  go  to  him.  There  is  some 
talk  of  father's  being  made  provisional  Governor  of 
Georgia;  that  is,  his  old  political  friends  are  anxious 
to  have  him  appointed  because  they  think,  that  while 
his  well-known  Union  sentiments  all  through  the  war 
ought  to  make  him  satisfactory  to  the  Yankees,  they 
know  he  would  have  the  interests  of  Georgia  at  heart 
and  do  everything  he  could  to  lighten  the"  tyranny  that 
must,  in  any  case,  be  exercised  over  her.  But  I  think, 
to  hold  an  office  under  Andy  Johnson,  even  for  the 


292      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

good  of  his  country,  would  be  a  disgrace,  and  my  dear 
father  is  too  honorable  a  man  to  have  his  name  mixed 
up  with  the  miserable  gang  that  are  swooping  down 
upon  us,  like  buzzards  on  a  battlefield. 

I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  part  with  Emily  and 
her  family.  Mother  never  liked  her,  and  has  been 
wanting  to  get  rid  of  her  ever  since  "  freedom  struck 
the  earth."  She  says  she  would  enjoy  emancipation 
from  the  negroes  more  than  they  will  from  their  mas- 
ters. Emily  has  a  savage  temper,  and  yesterday  she 
gave  mother  some  impudence,  and  mother  said  she 
couldn't  stand  her  any  longer,  and  she  would  have  to 
pack  up  and  go.  Then  Emily  came  crying  to  Mett  and 
me  and  said  that  Mistis  had  turned  her  off,  and  we  all 
cried  over  it  together,  and  Mett  went  and  shut  herself 
up  in  the  library  and  spent  the  whole  afternoon  there 
crying  over  Emily's  troubles.  Mother  hasn't  said  any- 
thing more  about  it  to-day,  but  the  poor  darkey  is  very 
miserable,  and  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of 
her  with  her  five  children,  for  Dick  can't  let  whisky 
alone,  and  would  never  make  a  support  for  them. 
Besides,  he  is  not  fit  for  anything  but  a  coachman,  and 
people  are  not  going  to  be  able  to  keep  carriages  now. 
I  felt  so  sorry  for  the  poor  little  children  that  I  went 
out  and  gave  them  all  a  big  piece  of  cake,  in  commiser- 
ation for  the  emptiness  their  poor  little  stomachs  will 
sooner  or  later  be  doomed  to,  and  then  I  went  and  had 
a  talk  with  father  about  them.  He  laughed  and  told 
me  I  needn't  be  troubled;  he  would  never  let  any  of 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  293 

his  negroes  suffer  as  long  as  he  had  anything  to  share 
with  them,  and  if  mother  couldn't  stand  Emily,  he 
would  find  somebody  else  to  hire  her,  or  see  that  the 
family  were  cared  for  till  they  could  do  something  for 
themselves.  Of  course,  now  that  they  are  no  longer 
his  property,  he  can't  afford  to  spend  money  bringing 
up  families  of  little  negro  children  like  he  used  to,  but 
humanity,  and  the  natural  affection  that  every  right- 
minded  man  feels  for  his  own  people,  will  make  him 
do  all  that  he  can  to  keep  them  from  suffering.  Our 
negroes  have  acted  so  well  through  all  these  troublous 
times  that  I  feel  more  attached  to  them  than  ever.  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  mammy  on  the  subject  to-day,  and 
she  says  none  of  our  house  servants  ever  had  a  thought 
of  quitting  us.*  She  takes  a  very  sensible  view  of 
things,  but  mammy  is  a  negro  of  more  than  usual 
intelligence.  "  There  is  going  to  be  awful  times 
among  the  black  folks,"  she  says.  "  Some  of  'em  '11 
work,  but  most  of  'em  won't  without  whippin',  and 
them  what  won't  work  will  steal  from  them  that  does, 


*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  dear  old  mammy — Sophia  by  name 
— while  so  superior,  and  as  genuine  a  "  lady  "  as  I  ever  knew,  in 
other  respects,  shared  the  weakness  of  her  race  in  regard  to 
chastity.  She  was  the  mother  of  five  children.  Her  two 
daughters,  Jane  and  Charlotte,  of  nearly  the  same  age  as  my 
sister  Metta  and  myself,  respectively,  were  assigned  to  us  as  our 
maids,  and  were  the  favorite  playmates  of  our  childhood.  They 
were  both  handsome  mulattoes,  and  Jane,  particularly,  I  remem- 
ber as  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  affectionate  characters  I  have 
ever  known.  Just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war  they  were 
purchased,  with   mammy's  consent  and  approval,  by  a  wealthy 


294      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

an'  so  nobody  won't  have  nothin'."  She  will  never 
leave  us,  unless  to  go  to  her  children. 

June  8,  Thursday. — A  letter  came  from  sister  while 
we  were  at  table,  giving  an  account  of  her  experience 
with  the  Yankees.  The  only  way  she  can  manage  to 
write  to  us  is  by  keeping  a  letter  always  on  hand  with 
Mr.  Hobbs,  in  Albany,  to  be  forwarded  by  any  oppor- 
tunity he  finds.  We  write  to  her  by  sending  our  let- 
ters to  Gus  Bacon,  in  Macon,  and  he  has  so  much 
communication  with  Gum  Pond  that  he  can  easily  for- 
ward them  there.  The  chief  difficulty  is  in  getting 
them  from  here  to  Macon.  Nobody  has  money  to 
travel  much,  so  it  is  a  mere  chance  if  we  find  anybody 
to  send  them  by.  The  express  will  carry  letters,  but 
it  is  expensive  and  uncertain. 

Capt.  Hudson  has  been  amusing  himself  by  teaching 
Marshall  and  some  of  his  little  friends  to  dance.  They 
meet  in  our  parlor  at  six  o'clock  every  afternoon. 
Mary  Day  and  I  assist,  she  by  playing  the  piano,  and 
I  by  dancing  with  the  children  and  making  them  keep 
time.  At  first  only  the  Pope  and  Alexander  children 
and  Touch   were   invited,  but   so  many  others  have 

white  man,  reputed  to  be  their  father,  who  set  them  free,  and 
sent  them  North  to  be  educated.  Jane,  who  had  married  in  the 
meantime,  came  to  visit  us  about  a  year  after  the  close  of  the  war, 
and  took  her  mother  back  home  with  her.  But  the  dear  old  lady 
— I  use  the  word  advisedly,  for  she  was  one  in  spite  of  inherited 
instincts  which  would  make  it  unfair  to  judge  her  by  the  white 
woman's  standard — could  not  be  happy  amid  such  changed  sur- 
roundings, and  finally  drifted  back  South,  to  live  with  one  of  her 
sons,  who  had  settled  in  Alabama. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  295 

dropped  in  that  I  call  him  "  the  village  dancing  mas- 
ter." Cousin  Boiling  came  over  this  afternoon,  and 
we  had  a  pleasant  little  chat  together  till  the  buggy 
was  brought  round  for  Mary  and  me  to  drive.  We 
went  out  the  Abbeville  road,  and  met  four  soldiers  just 
released  from  the  hospitals,  marching  cheerily  on  their 
crutches.  I  offered  to  take  two  of  them  in  the  buggy 
and  drive  them  to  town,  and  send  back  for  the  others, 
but  they  said  they  were  going  to  camp  there  in  the 
fields  and  would  not  put  me  to  the  trouble.  I  talked 
with  them  a  long  time  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy  telling 
of  their  adventures.  Two  of  them  had  very  bright, 
intelligent  faces,  and  one  smiled  so  pleasantly  that 
Mary  and  I  agreed  it  was  worth  driving  five  miles 
just  to  see  him.  I  told  them  that  the  sight  of  their 
gray  coats  did  my  heart  good,  and  was  a  relief  to  my 
eyes,  so  long  accustomed  to  the  ugly  Federal  blue. 

June  9,  Friday. — Mary  Wynn  has  come  to  make  us 
a  little  visit.  None  of  our  gentlemen  were  home  to 
dinner;  but  came  in  just  before  supper,  from  a  private 
barbecue  at  Capt.  Steve  Pettus's  plantation.  They 
tried  to  tease  us  by  pretending  to  have  forgotten  our 
warnings,  and  indulged  too  freely  in  the  captain's 
favorite  form  of  hospitality — Henry  clean  done  up, 
Capt.  Hudson  just  far  enough  gone  to  be  stupid,  and 
Garnett  not  quite  half-seas  over.  They  acted  their 
parts  to  perfection  and  gave  us  a  good  laugh,  but 
fooled  nobody,  because  we  know  them  well  enough 
to  be  always  on  the  lookout  for  a  joke,  and  besides,  we 


296      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

knew  they  would  not  really  do  such  a  thing.  We 
danced  awhile  after  supper,  but  it  was  too  hot  for  exer- 
cise, so  we  went  out  on  the  lawn  and  sang  Confederate 
songs.  Some  Yankee  soldiers  crept  up  behind  the  rose 
hedge  and  listened,  but  Toby's  bark  betrayed  them,  so 
we  were  careful  not  to  say  anything  that  would  give 
them  an  excuse  for  arresting  us.  I  love  all  the  dear 
old  Confederate  songs,  no  matter  what  sort  of  dog- 
gerel they  are — and  some  of  them  are  dreadful.  They 
remind  me  of  the  departed  days  of  liberty  and 
happiness. 

June  10,  Saturday. — Our  pleasant  evening  had  a  sad 
termination.  We  went  to  our  rooms  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  I  had  just  stretched  myself  out  for  a  good  night's 
rest  when  mother  came  to  the  door  and  said  that  father 
was  very  ill.  I  sprang  to  the  floor  and  went  to  get  a 
light  and  hunt  for  the  laudanum  bottle,  while  Metta 
flew  to  the  cottage  after  Henry.  He  had  gone  to  see  a 
patient,  so  we  sent  for  Dr.  Hardesty.  Father  began 
to  grow  better  before  the  doctor  arrived,  and  when  he 
went  away,  was  pronounced  out  of  danger,  but  I 
couldn't  help  feeling  anxious,  and  slept  very  little  dur- 
ing the  night.  A  man  of  father's  age  and  feeble 
health  cannot  well  stand  a  severe  attack  of  illness,  and 
I  felt  cold  with  terror  every  time  I  thought  of  the 
possibility  that  he  might  die.  Oh,  how  I  reproached 
myself  for  being  so  often  disrespectful  about  his  pol- 
itics, and  I  solemnly  vow  I  will  never  say  anything 
to  vex  him  again.     He  is  the  dearest,  best  old  father 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  297 

that  ever  lived,  and  I  have  talked  dreadfully  to  him 
sometimes,  and  now  I  am  so  sorry.  He  is  much  better 
to-day — entirely  out  of  danger,  the  doctor  says,  but 
must  not  leave  his  bed.  Mother  stays  in  the  room 
reading  to  him,  so  Mett  and  I  have  to  take  charge  of 
the  household.  I  feel  like  Atlas  with  the  world  on  my 
shoulders. 

June  12,  Monday. — We  had  crowds  of  callers  all  the 
morning,  and  some  in  the  afternoon,  which  was  rather 
inconvenient,  as  Metta  and  I  were  busy  preparing  for 
a  little  soiree  dansante  in  compliment  to  our  two 
Marys.  Some  of  the  guests  were  invited  to  tea,  the 
others  at  a  later  hour,  and  refreshed  between  the 
dances  with  cake,  fruit,  and  lemon  punch.  I  was  in 
the  parlor  from  six  to  seven,  helping  Capt.  Hudson 
with  his  little  dancing  circle,  and  Gen.  Elzey  came  in 
to  look  on,  and  we  fooled  away  the  time  talking  till 
I  forgot  how  late  it  was,  and  Mary  Semmes  and  the 
captain  [her  brother-in-law,  Spenser  Semmes,  son  of 
the  famous  Confederate  sea-captain]  came  in  before 
I  was  dressed.  I  ran  upstairs  and  scuttled  into  my 
clothes  as  quick  as  I  could.  We  had  a  delightful  sup- 
per and  everybody  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  About  25 
were  invited  in  all,  and  though  it  rained,  only  two 
invitations  were  declined.  We  had  a  charming  even- 
ing, and  everybody  was  in  the  best  of  spirits.  In  fact, 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  people  enjoy  themselves  more. 
We  had  a  few  sets  of  the  Lancers  and  one  or  two  old- 
fashioned  quadrilles  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  did 
20 


298      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

not  dance  the  round  dances,  but  the  square  dances 
seem  very  tame  to  me,  in  comparison  with  a  good 
waltz  or  a  galop.  Capt.  Semmes  is  delightful  to  dance 
with.  He  supports  his  partner  so  well,  with  barely 
the  palm  of  his  hand  touching  the  bottom  of  your 
waist.  Metta  and  I  are  both  charmed  with  him. 
Instead  of  the  quiet,  reserved  sort  of  person  he  seemed 
when  I  first  met  him  at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  he  is 
as  jolly  and  full  of  fun  as  Capt.  Irwin  himself.  When 
I  spoke  to  him  about  it,  he  laughed  and  said :  "  How 
could  you  expect  a  man  to  be  anything  but  solemn 
at  his  own  wedding?  "  I  turned  the  tables  by  saying 
it  was  the  woman's  time  to  look  solemn  afterwards. 
We  kept  up  a  sort  of  mock  warfare  the  whole  evening, 
and  I  don't  know  when  I  have  ever  laughed  more. 
You  can  be  so  free  and  easy  with  a  married  man  and 
let  him  say  things  you  wouldn't  take  from  a  single  one. 
He  and  Cousin  Boiling  nicknamed  me  "  Zephyr  "  be- 
cause they  said  my  hair  looked  like  a  zephyr  would  if 
they  could  see  it.  I  knew  they  were  poking  fun  at 
me,  for  the  damp  had  wilted  my  frizzes  dreadfully, 
and  I  put  my  hand  up  involuntarily,  to  see  if  there  was 
any  curl  left  in  them. 

"  You  needn't  be  uneasy,"  the  captain  said,  "  they 
only  need  another  good  pinching.  I  have  pinched 
Paul's  hair  for  her  too  often  not  to  know  the  signs." 

Then  I  said,  what  was  really  true, — that  I  had  never 
used  curling  irons  in  my  life. 

"  Then  you  do  worse,"  he  answered;  "  you  twist  up 


Flora  Maxwell 


Rosalie  Beirne 
(Mrs.  Garnett  Andrews,  Jr.) 


A  GROUP  OF   CONFEDERATE  BELLES 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  299 

your  hair  in  curl  papers."  I  asked  if  he  had  ever 
played  the  part  of  Mr.  Pickwick.  He  said  no,  but  he 
had  been  married  long  enough  not  to  be  fooled  with 
hot  iron  and  yellow  paper  devices.  "  Oh,  but  it  is 
worse  even  than  that  sometimes,"  I  acknowledged, 
pulling  out  a  little  bunch  of  artificial  frizzettes  that  I 
use  in  damp  weather  to  fill  in  the  gaps  of  my  own, 
"  they  are  '  false  as  fair.'  " 

He  laughed  at  my  frankness  and  proposed  that  we 
should  have  another  dance,  but  I  made  some  excuse, 
and  slipped  off  upstairs  to  get  a  look  at  myself  in 
the  glass.  Between  the  damp  and  the  dancing,  my 
frizzes  were  in  a  condition  that  made  me  look  like  a 
Medusa's  head.  I  fastened  them  down  the  best  I 
could  with  hairpins  and  hid  the  worst-looking  under 
a  little  cluster  of  rosebuds  and  then  went  back  to  the 
parlor.  I  wish  now  that  I  had  never  cut  off  my  front 
hair.  It  has  grown  too  long  to  frizz,  and  is  still  too 
short  to  do  anything  else  with,  and  as  the  false  friz- 
zettes I  have  are  made  of  Metta's  and  my  hair  mixed, 
they  won't  stay  curled  in  damp  weather,  and  so  are 
not  much  of  a  help.  I  am  tired  of  frizzing,  anyway, 
though  it  does  become  me  greatly. 

Mary  Semmes  has  told  the  captain  of  my  enthusias- 
tic admiration  for  his  father,  and  he  has  promised  to 
give  me  his  autograph.  "  I  will  give  you  a  whole 
letter,"  he  said,  "  that  he  wrote  me  when  I  was  a 
youngster  at  school."  I  am  delighted  at  the  idea  of 
possessing  such  a  souvenir  of  the  great  Confederate 


300      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

sea-captain,  the  most  dashing  and  romantic  hero  of 
the  war. 

It  was  two  o'clock  before  our  soiree  broke  up,  and 
everybody  seemed  loath  to  go,  even  then.  I  had  trotted 
around  so  much  all  day  and  danced  so  much  at  night, 
that  my  feet  ached  when  I  went  to  bed,  as  if  I  were 
a  rheumatic  old  woman. 

June  13,  Tuesday. — Mary  Wynn  has  gone  home  and 
invited  us  to  her  house  next  Monday.  Jule  Toombs 
has  gone  out  with  her,  and  several  others  are  invited 
to  meet  us  there.  The  more  I  know  of  Mary,  the  better 
I  like  her;  she  is  so  thoroughly  good-hearted.     .     .     . 

June  14,  Wednesday. — We  all  spent  the  morning  at 
Mrs.  Paul  Semmes's  and  had  a  charming  time.  The 
two  Marys  (Mary  Semmes  and  Mary  Day)  both  play 
divinely,  and  made  music  for  us,  while  the  captain 
made  mirth.  He  showed  me  a  beautiful  collection  of 
seaweeds,  and  some  interesting  cartes  de  visite,  among 
them  one  of  his  father,  the  great  Confederate  admiral. 
He  showed  me  a  page  in  his  photograph  book,  which 
he  said  he  was  saving  for  my  picture,  and  I  told  him 
he  should  have  it  when  I  get  to  be  a  "  celebrated  fe- 
male." He  gave  me  two  of  his  father's  letters — one 
of  them  about  the  fitting  up  of  his  first  ship,  the 
Sumter. 

June  15,  Thursday. — This  has  been  a  day  of  jokes — 
as  crazy  almost  as  if  it  were  the  First  of  April.  It  all 
began  by  Capt.  Hudson  trying  to  get  even  with  me 
for  fooling  him  about  those  colored  cigarette  papers 


OF   A   GEORGIA    GIRL  301 

the  other  night,  and  laughing  at  him  for  his  misunder- 
standing of  some  complimentary  remarks  that  Mary 
Day  had  made  about  Sidney  Lanier.  After  we  had 
each  told  everything  we  could  think  of  to  raise  a  laugh 
against  the  other,  he  put  on  a  serious  face,  and 
began  to  hint,  in  a  very  mysterious  way,  that  he 
thought  this  house  was  a  dangerous  place.  "  There 
are  ghosts  in  it,"  he  said,  and  then,  to  our  utter  amaze- 
ment, went  on  to  tell,  as  if  he  were  relating  a  genuine 
ghost  story,  about  Capt.  Goldthwaite's  encounter  with 
Cousin  Liza  the  other  morning,  as  he  was  coming  out 
of  his  room  to  take  the  early  train.  He  evidently 
didn't  know,  when  he  started,  who  the  real  ghost  was, 
but  he  saw  at  once,  from  our  laughter,  that  it  was 
neither  Cora  nor  Metta  nor  me,  so  he  said  it  must  lie 
between  Cousin  Liza  and  Mary  Day,  and  he  would 
find  out  by  telling  the  story  at  the  dinner  table,  and 
watching  their  faces,  which  one  it  was.  We  thought 
this  would  be  a  good  joke,  and  it  turned  out  even  better 
than  we  expected,  when  Cousin  Liza  walked  right  into 
the  trap,  before  he  had  said  a  word,  by  making  a 
mysterious  allusion  to  her  adventure  which  she  thought 
nobody  but  herself  and  Mett  and  me  would  understand. 
Then,  when  she  had  betrayed  herself  as  completely 
as  she  could,  the  captain  gravely  told  his  ghost  story. 
But  instead  of  laughing  with  the  rest  of  us,  she  got 
on  her  high  horse  and  gave  him  a  piece  of  her  mind 
that  silenced  him  for  that  time  as  a  story-teller.  Every- 
body wanted  to  laugh,  and  everybody  was  afraid  to 


302      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

speak,  so  we  all  looked  down  at  our  plates  and  ate  as 
hard  as  we  could,  in  dead  silence.  I  expected  every 
minute  to  hear  somebody  break  out  in  a  tell-tale 
snicker,  but  we  held  in  till  dinner  was  over.  Father 
never  allows  anybody  to  make  fun  of  cousin,  if  he 
can  help  it,  and  he  called  Metta  and  me  to  him  when 
we  got  up  from  the  table  and  gave  us  such  a  raking 
over  that  we  ran  upstairs  and  buried  our  heads  in 
the  pillows  so  that  we  could  laugh  as  much  as  we 
pleased  without  being  heard.  While  we  were  lying 
there,  cousin  came  in  and  entertained  us  with  such  a 
criticism  of  the  captain  and  his  ghost  story  that  we 
didn't  dare  to  uncover  our  faces.  Later  in  the  after- 
noon, when  we  came  downstairs,  Garnett  proposed 
that  we  should  all  go  out  in  the  grove  and  laugh  as 
loud  as  we  chose.  Henry  and  Cora  joined  us,  and  we 
went  to  the  seat  under  the  big  poplar,  and  when  he 
had  arranged  us  all  in  a  row,  Capt.  Hudson  gave  the 
word  of  command:  "Attention!  Make  ready! 
Laugh !  "  threw  up  his  cap  and  shouted  like  a  school- 
boy. I  don't  know  what  makes  people  so  foolish,  but 
I  laughed  as  I  don't  believe  I  ever  did  before  in  my 
life,  and  all  about  nothing,  too.  We  all  whooped  and 
shouted  like  crazy  children.  But  the  mystery  remains; 
where  did  Capt.  Hudson  learn  about  that  encounter? 
I  am  sure  Capt.  Goldthwaite  couldn't  have  told  him, 
because  he  was  on  his  way  to  take  the  train  when  he 
ran  upon  her  in  the  entry.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  comedy, 
though,  sure  enough,  if  there  should  come  an  alarm  of 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  303 

fire  in  the  night,  and  we  would  all  have  to  run  out  in 
our  homespun  nightgowns! 

June  21,  Wednesday. — We  staid  only  two  days  at 
the  Wynns',  because  we  wanted  to  get  back  home  be- 
fore Mary  Day  leaves.  She  decided  not  to  go  till 
Thursday,  but  couldn't  stand  the  long  drive  into  the 
country,  and  we  didn't  want  to  let  her  go  without  see- 
ing her  again. 

We  reached  home  just  before  dinner  and  found  the 
town  agog  with  a  difficulty  between  Charley  Irvin  and 
the  new  commander,  a  New  York  counter-jumper 
named  Cooley,  who  now  reigns  over  the  land.  Charley 
had  thrashed  old  Uncle  Spenser  for  being  impudent  to 
his  mother,  and  the  Yankee  fined  him  fifteen  dollars 
for  it.  When  Charley  went  to  pay  the  money,  he  said 
to  the  captain,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  men  on  the 
square : 

"  Here  is  fifteen  dollars  you  have  made  out  of  me. 
Put  it  in  your  pocket ;  it  will  pay  your  board  bill  for  a 
month,  and  get  you  two  or  three  drinks  besides." 

The  captain  turned  to  Mr.  Barnett,  who  was  stand- 
ing by,  and  asked:  "  What  is  the  law  in  this  country? 
Is  a  man  allowed  to  defend  himself  when  he  is  in- 
sulted?" 

"  That  depends  on  the  nature  of  the  insult,"  Mr. 
Barnett  answered. 

"  Do  you  think  this  one  sufficient  to  warrant  me  in 
knocking  that  man  down  ?  "  inquired  the  Yankee. 

"  I  do  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Barnett. 


304      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

"  Yes!  "  cried  Charley,  "  if  you  have  any  spirit  in 
you,  you  ought  to  knock  me  down.  Just  come  and 
try  it,  if  you  want  a  fight;  I  am  ready  to  accommodate 
you." 

But  it  seems  he  wasn't  "  spoiling  for  a  fight "  after 
all,  and  concluded  that  it  was  beneath  the  dignity  of 
a  United  States  officer  to  engage  in  a  street  broil.* 

Miss  Kate  Tupper  is  at  her  brother's,  completely 
broken  in  health,  spirit,  and  fortune.  She  was  in  An- 
derson (S.  C.)  during  the  horrors  committed  there,  and 
Mr.  Tupper  thinks  she  will  never  recover  from  the 
shock.  All  her  jewelry  was  taken  except  a  gold  thim- 
ble which  happened  to  be  overlooked  by  the  robbers, 
and  her  youngest  brother  was  beaten  by  the  villains 
about  the  head  and  breast  so  severely  that  the  poor  boy 
has  been  spitting  blood  ever  since.  Old  Mrs.  Tupper, 
one  of  the  handsomest  and  best-preserved  old  ladies  of 
my  acquaintance,  turned  perfectly  gray  in  five  days, 
on  account  of  the  anxieties  and  sufferings  she  under- 
went. The  two  daughters  of  the  old  gentleman  with 
whom  Cousin  Liza  boarded  that  summer  she  spent  in 
Carolina  before  the  war,  were  treated  so  brutally  that 


*  It  is  the  mature  judgment  of  "  Philip  sober  "  that  this  Federal 
officer  was  acting  the  part  of  a  gentleman  in  avoiding  a  difficulty 
which,  in  the  excited  state  of  public  feeling,  must  have  led  to 
a  general  melie.  My  recollection  is  that  his  whole  conduct, 
while  in  command  of  our  town,  was  characterized  by  a  desire  to 
make  his  unpopular  office  as  little  offensive  as  possible,  and  I  take 
pleasure  in  stating  that  his  efforts  were  afterwards  more  fully 
appreciated  by  the  people. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  305 

Mr.  Tupper  would  not  repeat  the  circumstances  even 
to  his  wife.  Oh,  how  I  do  hate  the  wretches!  No 
language  can  express  it.  Mr.  Alexander  tells  me  about 
a  friend  of  his  in  Savannah  who  has  taught  her  chil- 
dren never  to  use  the  word  "  Yankee  "  without  putting 
some  opprobrious  epithet  before  it,  as  "  a  hateful  Yan- 
kee," "  an  upstart  of  a  Yankee,"  "  a  thieving  Yankee," 
and  the  like;  but  even  this  is  too  mild  for  me.  I  feel 
sometimes  as  if  I  would  just  like  to  come  out  with  a 
good  round  "  Damn!  " 

Father,  I  am  glad  to  say,  has  not  been  appointed 
provisional  governor,  so  I  can  say  what  I  please  about 
our  new  rulers  without  any  disrespect  to  him.  I  know 
he  would  have  done  everything  in  his  power  to  protect 
our  people  if  he  had  been  appointed,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  would  have  been  his  duty  to  do  many  hard 
things,  from  the  obolquy  of  which  he  is  now  spared, 
and  his  name  will  not  be  stained  by  being  signed  to 
any  of  their  wicked  orders.  My  dear  old  father,  in 
spite  of  his  love  for  the  Union,  is  too  honorable  a  man, 
and  too  true  a  gentleman  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  dirty 
work  that  is  to  be  done. 

June  22,  Thursday. — Mary  Day  and  her  brother  left 
for  Macon,  which  leaves  us  with  nobody  outside  our 
own  family,  except  Capt.  Hudson.  Our  gentlemen 
Were  from  home  nearly  all  day,  attending  a  political 
meeting  at  which  father,  Col.  Weems,  and  Capt.  Hud- 
son were  to  be  the  principal  speakers.  We  had  a  great 
deal  of  company  after  dinner,  and  a  number  of  friends 


306      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

to  look  on  at  the  dancing  lesson.  Gen.  Elzey,  and 
Capt.  and  Mary  Semmes  seemed  greatly  amused,  and 
I  invited  them  to  come  and  look  on  whenever  they  feel 
like  it.  Our  house  is  a  great  resort  for  Confederate 
officers  out  of  employment;  when  they  are  bored  and 
don't  know  what  else  to  do  with  themselves,  they  are 
sure  of  finding  a  welcome  here,  and  I  am  only  too  glad 
to  do  all  in  my  power  to  entertain  the  dear,  brave 
fellows. 

Henry  came  home  to  supper  with  his  first  greenback, 
which  he  exhibited  with  great  glee.  "  It  is  both  a 
pleasure  and  a  profit,"  he  said  as  he  held  up  his  dollar 
bill  in  triumph.  "  I  earned  it  by  pulling  a  Yankee's 
tooth,  and  I  don't  know  which  I  enjoyed  most,  hurting 
the  Yankee,  or  getting  the  money." 

Capt.  Cooley  has  established  a  camp  in  Cousin  Will 
Pope's  grove,  and  the  white  tents  would  look  very 
picturesque  there  under  the  trees,  if  we  didn't  know 
they  belonged  to  the  Yankees.  Our  house  is  between 
their  camp  and  the  square,  so  that  they  are  passing 
our  street  gate  at  all  hours.  We  cannot  walk  in  any 
direction  without  meeting  them.  They  have  estab- 
lished a  negro  brothel,  or  rather  a  colony  of  them,  on 
the  green  right  in  front  of  our  street  gate  and  between 
Cousin  Mary  Cooper's  and  Mrs.  Margaret  Jones's 
homes.  Whenever  Mett  and  I  walk  out  in  company 
with  any  of  our  rebel  soldier  boys,  we  are  liable  to 
have  our  eyes  greeted  with  the  sight  of  our  conquerors 
escorting  their  negro  mistresses.     They  even  have  the 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  307 

insolence  to  walk  arm  in  arm  with  negro  women  in  our 
grove,  and  at  night,  when  we  are  sitting  on  the  piazza, 
we  can  hear  them  singing  and  laughing  at  their  de- 
testable orgies.  This  establishment  is  the  greatest  in- 
sult to  public  decency  I  ever  heard  of.  It  is  situated 
right  under  our  noses,  in  the  most  respectable  part  of 
the  village,  on  the  fashionable  promenade  where  our 
citizens  have  always  been  accustomed  to  walk  and 
ride  in  the  evenings.  I  took  a  little  stroll  with  Capt. 
Hudson  a  few  evenings  ago,  and  my  cheeks  were  made 
to  tingle  at  the  sight  of  two  Yankee  soldiers  sporting 
on  the  lawn  with  their  negro  "  companions."  There 
is  no  way  of  avoiding  these  disgusting  sights  except  by 
remaining  close  prisoners  at  home,  and  Cousin  Mary 
and  Mrs.  Jones  can't  even  look  out  of  their  windows 
without  the  risk  of  having  indecent  exhibitions  thrust 
upon  them  * 

Charley  says  that  Capt.  Cooley  went  to  him  this 
morning  and  told  him  that  he  would  have  punished 
old  Spenser  for  his  insolence  to  Mrs.  Irvin  if  Charley 
had  complained  to  him,  instead  of  taking  the  law  into 
his  own  hands.  Charley  told  him  that  the  protection 
of  his  mother  was  a  duty  that  he  would  delegate  to  no 
man  living  while  he  had  the  strength  to  perform  it. 
"  I'll  knock  down  any  man  that  dares  to  insult  her," 

*  It  is  possible  that  these  associations  may  not  have  been,  in  all 
cases,  open  to  the  worst  interpretation,  since  Northern  sentiment 
is,  theoretically,  at  least,  so  different  from  ours  in  regard  to  social 
intercourse  between  whites  and  negroes ;  but,  from  our  point  of 
view,  any  other  interpretation  was  simply  inconceivable. 


308      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

he  said,  "  whether  he  is  a  runaway-nigger  or  a  Yankee 
major-general,  without  asking  your  permission  or  any- 
body else's.  My  life  isn't  worth  much  now,  anyway, 
and  I  couldn't  lose  it  in  a  better  cause  than  defending 
my  blind  mother."     Bravo,  Charley! 

I  hope  the  Yankees  will  get  their  fill  of  the  blessed 
nigger  before  they  are  done  with  him.  They  have 
placed  our  people  in  the  most  humiliating  position  it 
is  possible  to  devise,  where  we  are  obliged  either  to 
submit  to  the  insolence  of  our  own  servants  or  appeal 
to  our  Northern  masters  for  protection,  as  if  we  were 
slaves  ourselves — and  that  is  just  what  they  are  trying 
to  make  of  us.     Oh,  it  is  abominable! 

June  23,  Friday. — We  are  going  to  form  a  dancing 
club  for  grown  people,  to  meet  once  or  twice  a  week  at 
our  house,  as  soon  as  father  is  well  enough.  He  is 
quite  feeble  still,  and  has  been  ever  since  that  sudden 
attack  the  other  night  when  Mary  Wynn  was  here.  I 
feel  very  anxious  about  him  and  wish  there  was  not 
any  such  thing  in  the  world  as  politics,  for  they  are  a 
never-ending  source  of  warfare  in  the  house,  and  I 
believe  that  has  as  much  to  do  with  his  sickness  as 
anything  else.  Poor,  dear  old  father,  he  can't  help 
loving  the  old  Union  any  more  than  I  can  help  loving 
the  Confederacy.  But  even  if  he  is  a  Union  man,  he  is 
an  honest  and  conscientious  one,  and  was  just  as 
stanch  and  outspoken  in  the  hottest  days  of  secession 
— even  more  so  than  he  is  now.  I  will  never  forget 
that  night  when  the  bells  were  ringing  and  the  town 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  309 

illuminated  for  the  secession  of  Georgia,  how  he  dark- 
ened his  windows  and  shut  up  the  house,  and  while 
Mett  and  I  were  pouting  in  a  corner  because  we  were 
not  allowed  to  take  part  in  the  jubilee,  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  and  kept  saying,  as  the  sound  of 
the  bells  reached  us :  "  Poor  fools,  they  may  ring  their 
bells  now,  but  they  will  wring  their  hands — yes,  and 
their  hearts,  too,  before  they  are  done  with  it !  "  It 
has  all  come  out  very  much  as  he  said,  but  somehow, 
I  can't  help  wishing  he  was  on  the  same  side  with  the 
rest  of  us,  so  there  wouldn't  be  all  this  quarreling  and 
fretting.  We  are  all  stirred  up  now  about  that  public 
meeting  yesterday.  The  whole  town  is  in  a  ferment 
about  some  resolutions  that  were  passed.  I  can't  learn 
much  about  them,  but  it  seems  father  was  active  in 
pushing  them  through.  One  of  them,  thanking  the 
Yankee  officers  for  their  "  courteous  and  considerate 
conduct,"  was  particularly  odious.  There  was  a  hot 
discussion  of  them  in  the  courthouse  and  Garnett  was 
so  angry  that  he  left  the  room  and  wouldn't  go  back 
any  more.  The  returned  soldiers  held  an  opposition 
meeting  after  dinner  before  the  courthouse  door,  and 
declared  that  instead  of  repenting  for  what  they  had 
done,  they  were  ready  to  fight  again,  if  they  had  the 
chance,  and  they  say  that  if  these  objectionable  resolu- 
tions are  published,  they  will  pass  a  counter  set. 
Henry  came  home  furious  that  father  should  have  been 
mixed  up  in  any  such  business,  but  he  didn't  know 
much   more   about   what   happened   than   I   do.     He 


3K>     THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

wouldn't  go  to  either  meeting  because  he  said  he  didn't 
approve  the  first  one,  and  he  didn't  want  to  show  dis- 
respect to  father  by  taking  part  in  the  second,  or  letting 
anybody  talk  to  him  about  it.  Henry  is  like  me;  he 
can't  talk  politics  without  losing  his  temper,  and  some- 
times he  gets  so  stirred  up  that  he  goes  off*  to  his  room 
and  won't  come  to  the  table  for  fear  he  might  forget 
himself  and  say  something  to  father  that  he  would  be 
sorry  for.  Serious  as  it  all  is,  I  can't  help  wanting 
to  laugh  a  little  sometimes,  in  spite  of  myself,  when  I 
see  him  begin  to  swell  up  and  hurry  out  of  the  way, 
as  if  he  had  a  bomb  in  his  pocket  and  was  afraid  it 
would  go  off  before  he  could  get  out  of  the  house. 
But  it  is  dreadful;  I  wonder  what  we  are  all  coming  to. 
There  may  have  been  some  use  in  talking  and  wran- 
gling about  what  to  do,  in  the  beginning,  when  the 
choice  was  open  to  us,  but  now,  as  Garnett  says,  right 
or  wrong,  we  are  all  in  the  same  boat,  and  the  whole 
South  has  got  to  sink  or  swim  together.  We  are  like 
people  that  have  left  a  great  strong  ship  and  put  out 
to  sea  in  a  leaky  little  raft — some  of  us  because  we 
didn't  trust  the  pilot,  some,  like  father,  because  they 
had  to  choose  between  their  friends  on  the  raft,  and 
comfort  and  safety  aboard  the  big  ship.  Now,  our 
poor  little  raft  has  gone  to  the  bottom,  run  down  by 
the  big  ship,  that  in  the  meantime,  has  become  a  pirate 
craft.  But  father  can't  see  the  change.  He  grew  old 
on  the  big  fine  ship  and  longs  to  get  back  aboard  on 
the  best  terms  he  can.     And  this  seems  to  be  about 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3" 

all  the  choice  that  is  left  us;  to  make  such  terms  as 
we  can  with  the  pirate  crew  and  go  into  voluntary- 
slavery,  or  resist  and  be  thrown  into  chains.  I  don't 
suppose  it  will  make  much  difference  in  the  end  which 
course  we  take,  but  it  has  always  been  my  doctrine 
that  if  you  have  got  to  go  to  the  devil  anyway,  it  is 
better  to  go  fighting,  and  so  keep  your  self-respect. 

June  25,  Sunday. — I  feel  like  Garnett  looks — in  a 
chronic  state  of  ennui.  Poor  fellow,  he  is  as  unhappy 
as  he  can  be  over  the  wreck  of  our  cause  and  the  ruin 
of  his  career. 

The  latest  act  of  tyranny  is  that  handbills  have  been 
posted  all  over  town  forbidding  the  wearing  of  Con- 
federate uniforms.  We  have  seen  the  last  of  the  be- 
loved old  gray,  I  fear.  I  can  better  endure  the  gloomy 
weather  because  it  gives  us  gray  skies  instead  of  blue. 

June  27,  Tuesday. — I  have  been  trying  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  few  days  we  have  been  without  com- 
pany to  look  after  my  own  affairs  a  little,  but  have  not 
even  found  time  to  darn  my  stockings.  We  have  a 
constant  stream  of  visitors,  even  when  there  is  nobody 
staying  in  the  house,  and  so  many  calls  to  return  that 
when  not  entertaining  somebody  at  home,  Metta  and 
I  are  making  calls  and  dropping  cards  at  other  people's 
houses. 

I  went  to  see  Belle  Nash  after  dinner,  before  going 
to  the  bank  to  dance  with  the  children.  She  invited 
me  to  go  driving  with  her,  but  I  declined,  and  walked 
to  the  bank  with  Jim  Bryan,  who  spied  me  as  I  was 


312      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

leaving  the  Randolph  house  and  bolted  after  me.  He 
was  full  of  news  and  told  me  more  than  I  could  have 
found  out  for  myself  in  a  year,  from  the  boil  on  his 
finger  to  the  full  and  complete  history  of  the  old  striped 
rag  that  the  Yankees  have  raised  on  the  courthouse 
steeple,  where  my  lone  star  once  proudly  floated.  I 
consider  that  flag  a  personal  insult  to  Cora  and  me, 
who  made  the  first  rebel  one  ever  raised  in  Washing- 
ton. And  such  a  time  as  we  had  making  it,  too,  for 
we  had  to  work  on  it  in  secret  and  smuggle  it  out  of 
sight  every  time  we  heard  any  one  coming,  for  fear 
father  might  find  out  what  we  were  at  and  put  a  stop 
to  our  work.  But  we  got  it  done,  and  there  it  floated, 
while  the  bells  were  ringing  for  secession,  just  as  that 
horrid  old  Yankee  banner  floats  there  now,  the  signal 
of  our  humiliation  and  defeat.  Poor,  dear,  old  father, 
my  conscience  hurts  me  to  think  how  I  have  disobeyed 
him  and  gone  against  his  wishes  ever  since  the  war 
began.  We  are  all  such  determined  Rebs  that  I  some- 
times wonder  how  he  can  put  up  with  us  as  well  as  he 
does — though  we  do  have  awful  family  rows  some- 
times. We  barely  missed  one  this  evening,  when  I 
came  in  and  commenced  to  tell  the  news,  but  luckily 
the  supper  bell  rang  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  though 
father  was  so  upset  he  wouldn't  say  grace.  That  old 
flag  started  it  all.  We  children  were  so  incensed  we 
couldn't  hold  in,  and  father  reproved  us  for  talking 
so  imprudently  before  the  servants.  I  said  I  hated 
prudence — it  was  a  self-seeking,  Puritanical  sort  of 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3*3 

virtue,  and  the  Southerners  would  never  have  made 
the  gallant  fight  we  did,  if  we  had  stopped  to  think  of 
prudence.  Mother  turned  this  argument  against  me 
in  a  way  that  made  me  think  of  the  scene  in  our  house 
on  the  night  when  that  first  rebel  flag  was  raised.  We 
try  to  avoid  politics  at  home,  because  it  always  brings 
on  strife,  but  a  subject  of  such  vital  and  general  inter- 
est will  come  up,  in  spite  of  all  we  can  do.  I  am  afraid 
all  this  political  turmoil  has  something  to  do  with 
father's  illness,  and  my  heart  smites  me.  I  don't  want 
to  be  disrespectful  to  him,  but  Henry  and  I  are  born 
hot-heads,  and  never  can  hold  our  unruly  tongues.  In 
the  beginning,  I  think  a  great  many  people,  especially 
the  old  people,  felt,  way  down  in  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts,  just  as  father  did.  Cora  says  that  her  grandpa 
was  ready  to  crack  anybody  on  the  head  with  his  walk- 
ing stick  that  talked  to  him  about  dissolving  the  Union, 
and  she  never  dared  to  open  her  mouth  on  the  subject 
in  his  presence,  or  her  father  either,  though  he  and  all 
the  rest  of  them  believe  in  Toombs  next  to  the  Bible. 
I  felt  differently  myself  then.  Before  Georgia  se- 
ceded, I  used  to  square  my  opinions  more  by  father. 
I  could  see  his  reasons  for  believing  that  secession 
would  be  a  mistake,  and  wished  that  some  honorable 
way  might  be  found  to  prevent  it.  I  loved  the  old 
Union,  too — the  Union  of  Washington  and  Jefferson 
— as  much  as  I  hate  the  new  Union  of  compulsion  and 
oppression,  and  I  used  to  quarrel  with  Henry  and  Cora 

for  being  such  red-hot  secessionists.     Even  after  the 
21 


314      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

fight  began,  though  my  heart  and  soul  were  always 
with  the  South,  I  could  still  see  a  certain  tragic  gran- 
deur in  the  spectacle  of  the  Great  Republic  struggling 
desperately  for  its  very  existence.  On  looking  back 
over  the  pages  of  this  diary,  I  cannot  accuse  myself  of 
unreasonable  prejudice  against  the  other  side. 

Its  pages  are  full  of  criticisms  of  our  own  people 
all  through  the  war.  I  could  see  their  faults,  and  I 
would  have  done  justice  to  Yankee  virtues,  if  they  had 
had  any,  but  since  that  infamous  march  of  Sherman's, 
and  their  insolence  in  bringing  negro  soldiers  among 
us,  my  feelings  are  so  changed  that  the  most  rabid 
secession  talkers,  who  used  to  disgust  me,  are  the  only 
ones  that  satisfy  me  now.  And  I  am  not  the  only 
moderate  person  they  have  driven  to  the  other  extreme. 
Not  two  hours  ago  I  heard  Garnett  say  that  if  they 
had  shown  one  spark  of  magnanimity  towards  us  since 
we  gave  up  the  fight,  he  would  be  ready  to  enter  their 
service  the  first  time  they  got  into  a  foreign  war. 
"  But  now,"  he  says,  "  I  would  fight  in  the  ranks  of 
any  army  against  them."  * 

The  next  war  they  get  into,  I  think,  will  be  against 
the  negroes,  who  are  already  becoming  discontented 
with  freedom,  so  different  from  what  they  were  taught 

*  In  the  face  of  this  bitter  animosity,  it  is  curious  to  know  that 
the  son  of  this  irreconcilable  "  rebel,"  with  the  full  consent  and 
approval  of  his  father,  raised  and  commanded  a  company  of 
volunteers  in  the  Spanish-American  War — the  very  first  conflict 
in  which  the  United  States  was  involved  after  the  hostile  decla- 
ration just  recorded — a  fact  which  shows  how  little  fiery  talk  like 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  315 

to  expect.  Instead  of  wealth  and  idleness  it  has 
brought  them  idleness,  indeed,  but  starvation  and 
misery  with  it.  There  is  no  employment  for  the  thou- 
sands that  are  flocking  from  the  plantations  to  the 
towns,  and  no  support  for  those  who  cannot  or  will  not 
work.  The  disappointed  ones  are  as  much  incensed 
against  their  "  deliverers  "  as  against  us,  and  when 
they  rise,  it  will  not  be  against  either  Yankee  or  South- 
erner, but  against  the  white  race.  Unfortunately, 
many  of  them  have  been  drilled  and  made  into  soldiers. 
They  have  arms  in  their  hands,  and  when  the  time 
comes,  will  be  prepared  to  act  the  part  of  the  Sepoys 
in  India,  thanks  to  Northern  teaching.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war  I  was  frightened  out  of  my  senses, 
when  I  read  the  frightful  story  of  Lucknow  and  Cawn- 
pore,  for  fear  something  of  the  kind  would  happen 
here,  but  the  negroes  had  not  been  corrupted  by  false 
teachings  then,  and  we  soon  found  that  we  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  them.  Now,  when  I  know  that  I  am 
standing  on  a  volcano  that  may  burst  forth  any  day,  I 
somehow,  do  not  feel  frightened.  It  seems  as  if  noth- 
ing worse  could  happen  than  the  South  has  already 
been  through,  and  I  am  ready  for  anything,  no  matter 
what  comes.  The  strange  part  of  the  situation  is  that 
there  was  no  danger  when  all  our  men  were  in  the 


this  and  the  sophomorical  thunder  on  page  254  counts  for  now. 
Were  it  not  for  the  bitter  wrongs  of  Reconstruction  and  the  fatal 
legacy  it  has  left  us,  the  animosities  engendered  by  the  war  would 
long  ago  have  become  what  it  is  the  author's  wish  that  this  record 
of  them  should  now  be  regarded — a  mere  fossil  curiosity. 


316      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

army  and  only  women  left  to  manage  the  plantations. 
Sister  never  even  locked  her  doors  at  night,  though 
there  was  often  not  a  white  man  within  three  miles  of 
her;  but  as  soon  as  the  Yankees  came  and  began  to 
"  elevate  the  negro  "  by  putting  into  his  ignorant,  sav- 
age head  notions  it  is  impossible  to  gratify,  then  the 
trouble  began,  and  Heaven  only  knows  where  it  will 
end.  A  race  war  is  sure  to  come,  sooner  or  later,  and 
we  shall  have  only  the  Yankees  to  thank  for  it.  They 
are  sowing  the  wind,  but  they  will  leave  us  to  reap  the 
whirlwind.  No  power  on  earth  can  raise  an  inferior, 
savage  race  above  their  civilized  masters  and  keep  them 
there.  No  matter  what  laws  they  make  in  his  favor, 
nor  how  high  a  prop  they  build  under  him,  the  negro 
is  obliged,  sooner  or  later,  to  find  his  level,  but  we 
shall  be  ruined  in  the  process.  Eventually  the  negro 
race  will  be  either  exterminated  or  reduced  to  some 
system  of  apprenticeship  embodying  the  best  features 
of  slavery,  but  this  generation  will  not  live  to  see  it. 
Nothing  but  experience,  that  "  dear  teacher  "  of  fools, 
will  ever  bring  the  North  to  its  senses  on  this  point, 
and  the  fanatics  who  have  caused  the  trouble  will  be 
slow  to  admit  the  falsity  of  their  cherished  theories 
and  confess  themselves  in  the  wrong.  The  higher 
above  his  natural  capacity  they  force  the  negro  in  their 
rash  experiments  to  justify  themselves  for  his  emanci- 
pation, the  greater  must  be  his  fall  in  the  end,  and  the 
more  bitter  our  sufferings  in  the  meantime.  If  insur- 
rections take  place,  the  United  States  government  is 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  317 

powerful  enough  to  prevent  them  from  extending  very 
far,  but  terrible  damage  might  be  done  before  they 
could  or  would  send  succor.  Our  conquerors  can  pro- 
tect themselves,  but  would  they  protect  us,  "  rebels  and 
outlaws  "  ?  Think  of  calling  on  the  destroyers  of  Co- 
lumbia for  protection !  They  have  disarmed  our  men, 
so  that  we.  are  at  their  mercy. 

They  have  a  miserable,  crack-brained  fanatic  here 
now,  named  French,  who  has  been  sent  out  from  some- 
where in  New  England  to  "  elevate  "  the  negroes  and 
stuff  their  poor  woolly  heads  full  of  all  sorts  of  impos- 
sible nonsense.  Cousin  Liza  was  telling  us  the  other 
day  what  she  had  heard  about  him,  how  he  lives  among 
the  negroes  and  eats  at  the  same  table  with  them,  and 
she  got  so  angry  before  she  finished  that  she  had  to 
stop  short  because  she  said  she  didn't  know  any  words 
bad  enough  to  describe  him.  Mett  told  her  that  if  she 
would  go  out  and  listen  the  next  time  Emily  got  into  a 
quarrel  with  some  of  the  other  negroes,  she  wouldn't 
have  to  consult  the  dictionary,  and  Cora  said  if  we 
would  wait  till  Henry  came  home,  she  would  call  him 
up  and  let  him  say  "  damn  "  for  us,  and  then  we  had 
to  laugh  in  spite  of  our  indignation. 

But  I  am  going  to  stop  writing,  or  even  thinking 
about  politics  and  everything  connected  with  them  if 
I  can.  I  wish  I  had  a  pen  that  would  make  nothing 
but  blots  every  time  I  start  the  subject.  It  is  an  evil 
one  that  drags  my  thoughts  down  to  low  and  mean 
objects.     There  is  an  atmosphere  of  greed  and  vulgar 


318      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

shopkeeper  prosperity  about  the  whole  Yankee  nation 
that  makes  the  very  poverty  and  desolation  of  the 
South  seem  dignified  in  comparison.  All  the  best  peo- 
ple in  the  Border  States — Kentucky,  Missouri,  Mary- 
land, and  poor  little  Delaware — were  on  our  side,  while 
the  other  kind  sided  with  the  Yankees.  This  is  why 
all  the  soldiers  and  refugees  from  these  States  are  so 
nice;  the  other  sort  staid  at  home  to  make  money, 
which  people  with  vulgar  souls  seem  to  think  will  make 
them  ladies  and  gentlemen.     .     .     . 

June  28,  Wednesday. — Tom  Cleveland  and  Jim 
Bryan  spent  the  morning  with  us,  and  Jim  says  the 
young  men  of  the  village  are  trying  to  contrive  some 
way  of  getting  to  the  top  of  the  courthouse  steeple  at 
night  and  tearing  down  the  Yankee  flag,  but  there  is 
no  possible  way  save  through  the  building  itself,  where 
the  garrison  is  quartered,  and  they  keep  such  close 
watch  that  there  is  no  chance  to  carry  out  the  design. 

Arch  has  "  taken  freedom  "  and  left  us,  so  we  have 
no  man-servant  in  the  dining-room.  Sidney,  Garnett's 
boy,  either  ran  away,  or  was  captured  in  Virginia.  To 
do  Arch  justice,  he  didn't  go  without  asking  father's 
permission,  but  it  is  a  surprise  that  he,  who  was  so 
devoted  to  "  Marse  Fred,"  should  be  the  very  first  of 
the  house  servants  to  go.  Father  called  up  all  his 
servants  the  other  day  and  told  the  men  that  if  they 
would  go  back  to  the  plantation  in  Mississippi  and 
work  there  the  rest  of  the  year,  he  would  give  them 
seven  dollars  a  month,  besides  their  food  and  clothing; 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  319 

but  if  they  chose  to  remain  with  him  here,  he  would 
not  be  able  to  pay  them  wages  till  after  Christmas. 
They  were  at  liberty,  he  told  them,  either  to  stay  with 
him  for  the  present,  on  the  old  terms,  or  to  take  their 
freedom  and  hire  out  to  somebody  else  if  they  pre- 
ferred ;  he  would  give  them  a  home  and  feed  them  till 
they  could  do  better  for  themselves.     In  the  altered 
state  of  his  fortunes  it  will  be  impossible  for  him  to 
keep  up  an  establishment  of  twenty  or  thirty  house 
servants  and  children,  who  are  no  longer  his  property. 
The  poor  ignorant  creatures  have  such  extravagant 
ideas  as  to  the  value  of  their  services  that  they  are 
sadly  discontented  with  the  wages  they  are  able  to  get. 
There  is  going  to  be  great  suffering  among  them,  for 
Southerners  will  not  employ  the  faithless  ones  if  they 
can  help  it,  and  the  Yankees  cannot  take  care  of  all  the 
idle  ones,  though  they  may  force  us  to  do  it  in  the  end. 
I  feel  sorry  for  the  poor  negroes.     They  are  not  to 
blame  for  taking  freedom  when  it  is  brought  to  their 
very  doors  and  almost  forced  upon  them.     Anybody 
would  do  the  same,  still  when  they  go  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing as  if  they  are  deserting  us  for  the  enemy,  and  it 
seems  humiliating  to  be  compelled  to  bargain  and  hag- 
gle with  our  own  servants  about  wages.     I  am  really 
attached  to  father's  negroes,  and  even  when  they  leave 
us,  as  Alfred,  Arch,  and  Harrison  have  done,  cannot 
help  feeling  interested  in  their  welfare  and  hoping  they 
will  find  good  places.     None  of  ours  have  ever  shown 
a  disposition  to  be  insolent,  like  some  of  those  I  see 


320      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

on  the  streets.     Arch  was  perfectly  respectful  to  the 
last,  and  did  his  work  faithfully,  but  then  he  left  us 
in  a  sneaky  way,  slipping  off  just  before  dinner-time, 
without  telling  us  good-by,  or  saying  a  word  to  any- 
body but  father,  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  himself. 
Mammy  says  that  the  real  cause  of  his  departure  is 
the  fear  that  his  wife  will  come  after  him  from  the 
plantation,  and  as  he  is  about  to  marry  Mrs.  Pettus's 
Betsy,  that  would  be  an  inconvenience.     I  wonder  if 
the  Yankees  will  force  them  to  observe  the  marriage 
tie  any  better  than  they  have  done  in  the  past.     I  don't 
think  it  exactly  consistent  with  the  honor  of  freemen 
to  have  wives  scattered  about,  all  over  the  country. 
Isaac  refuses  to  go  back  to  the  plantation  because  he 
has  a  new  wife  here  and  an  old  one  there  that  he  don't 
want.     He  says  he  "  ain't  a-goin'  to  leave  a  young 
'oman  and  go  back  to  an  old  one."     Mammy  tells  me 
all  this  gossip  about  the  other  negroes.     She  is  not 
going  to  leave  us  till  she  can  hear  from  Jane  and  Char- 
lotte, who  are  supposed  to  be  in  Philadelphia.     She 
says  she  will  stay  with  us  if  she  can't  go  to  them,  and 
more  could  not  be  expected  of  her.     It  is  not  in  human 
nature  that  fidelity  to  a  master  should  outweigh  mater- 
nal affection,  though  mammy  has  always  been  more 
like  a  member  of  the  white  family  than  a  negro.     Ex- 
cept Uncle  Osborne,  Big  Henry  is  the  most  shining  in- 
stance of  fidelity  that  has  come  under  my  observation. 
He  was  hired  at  the  salt  works  in  Alabama,  but  made 
his  escape  with  Frank  and  Abram  and  Isham,  and  all 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  321 

of  them  worked  their  way  back  here  to  father.  As 
soon  as  he  found  that  father  wanted  him  to  go  back 
to  the  plantation  but  had  no  money  to  pay  his  way, 
Henry  packed  his  wallet  and  marched  off,  saying  he 
could  work  his  way.  The  other  three  went  also,  and 
father  got  some  soldiers  who  were  going  in  that  direc- 
tion to  take  them  along  as  their  servants.  "  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  ones." 

In  black  contrast  to  Big  Henry's  shining  example, 
is  the  rascality  of  Aunty's  fallen  saint,  old  Uncle  Lewis. 
He  is  an  old  gray-haired  darkey  who  has  done  nothing 
for  years  but  live  at  his  ease,  petted  and  coddled  and 
believed  in  by  the  whole  family.  The  children  called 
him,  not  "  Uncle  Lewis,"  but  simply  "  Uncle,"  as  if  he 
had  really  been  kin  to  them.  Uncle  Alex  had  such 
faith  in  him  that  during  his  last  illness  he  would  often 
send  for  the  old  darkey  to  talk  and  pray  with  him,  and 
as  Uncle  Lewis  is  a  great  Baptist,  and  his  master  was 
an  equally  stanch  Methodist,  they  used  to  have  some 
high  old  religious  discussions  together.  A  special 
place  was  always  reserved  for  him  at  family  prayer, 
which  Uncle  Alex  was  very  particular  that  all  the  serv- 
ants should  attend,  and  "  brother  Lewis  "  was  often 
called  on  to  lead  the  devotions.  I  have  often  listened 
to  his  prayers  when  staying  at  Aunty's,  and  was 
brought  up  with  as  firm  a  belief  in  him  as  in  the  Bible 
itself.  He  was  an  honored  institution  of  the  town — 
scarcely  less  so  than  old  Uncle  Jarret,  the  old  shouting 
sexton  of  the  Methodist  church.     But  now  see  the  de- 


322      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

basing  effects  of  the  new  regime  in  destroying  all  that 
was  most  good  and  beautiful  in  these  simple-hearted 
folk.  Uncle  Lewis,  the  pious,  the  honored,  the  vener- 
ated, gets  his  poor  old  head  turned  with  false  notions  of 
freedom  and  independence,  runs  off  to  the  Yankees 
with  a  pack  of  lies  against  his  mistress,  and  sets  up  a 
claim  to  part  of  her  land !  Aunty  found  him  out  and 
turned  him  off  in  disgrace.  She  says  that  he  shall 
never  put  his  foot  on  her  lot  again.  She  knows,  how- 
ever, that  he  is  in  no  danger  of  suffering  for  anything, 
because  his  sons  have  excellent  trades  and  can  take 
good  care  of  him.  One  of  them,  our  Uncle  Osborne, 
is  as  fine  a  carpenter  as  there  is  in  the  county.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  valuable  servants  father  owned. 
He,  too,  has  taken  freedom  now,  but  he  is  not  to  blame 
for  that.  He  stood  by  us  when  we  most  needed  him, 
and  now  he  has  a  right  to  look  out  for  himself.  Father 
says  he  shall  never  suffer  for  anything  as  long  as  he 
lives  and  has  a  roof  over  his  own  head. 

I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  the  free  negroes. 
Every  vacant  house  in  town  is  packed  full  of  them,  and 
in  the  country  they  are  living  in  brush  arbors  in  the 
woods,  stealing  corn  from  the  fields  and  killing  the 
planters'  stock  to  feed  on.  The  mongrel  population 
on  the  green  in  front  of  our  street  gate  has  increased 
until  all  the  tents  and  hovels  are  teeming  like  a  pile 
of  maggots.  They  are  very  noisy,  especially  at  night, 
when  they  disturb  the  whole  neighborhood  with  their 
orgies.     They  are  growing  more  discontented  every 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  323 

day,  as  freedom  fails  to  bring  them  all  the  great  things 
they  expected,  and  are  getting  all  manner  of  insolent 
notions  into  their  heads.  Last  Sunday  a  Yankee  sol- 
dier, with  two  black  creatures  on  his  arms,  tried  to 
push  Mr.  and  Mrs. — (name  illegible)  off  the  sidewalk 
as  they  were  coming  home  from  church.  Mr.  E. 
raised  his  cane,  but  happily  for  him,  a  Yankee  officer 
stepped  up  before  he  had  time  to  use  it  and  reproved 
the  soldier  for  his  insolence. 

June  29,  Thursday. — Cousin  Jim  Farley  and  Mr. 
Cullom  arrived  from  Montgomery  to  look  after  the 
cotton  father  has  been  keeping  stored  for  them  here. 
They  brought  us  all  manner  of  nice  things — candy, 
raisins  and  almonds,  canned  fruits,  fish,  sardines, 
cheese,  and  other  foreign  luxuries,  including  a  basket 
of  Champagne.  I  never  had  such  a  feast  in  my  life 
before — at  least,  I  never  enjoyed  one  so  much  because 
I  never  was  so  starved  out.  It  is  the  first  time  in  four 
years  that  I  have  tasted  any  candy  except  home-made, 
and  generally  sorghum,  at  that.  But  the  best  of  all  are 
two  beautiful  new  hats,  in  the  very  latest  fashion,  that 
Cousin  Jim  brought  to  Mett  and  me.  We  were  so 
delighted  that  we  danced  all  over  the  house  when  not 
standing  before  the  glass  to  admire  ourselves.  We 
dressed  up  in  our  new  finery  and  went  to  the  bank, 
where  Mrs.  Elzey  and  the  general  and  Capt.  Semmes 
were  sitting  on  the  porch,  and  we  dazzled  them  with 
our  glory. 

Will  Ficklen  and  Charley  Irvin  called  soon  after 


324      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

breakfast,  to  ask  us  to  join  in  getting  up  a  barbecue 
they  want  to  have  on  the  6th  of  July,  for  the  purpose 
of  showing  their  contempt  for  the  4th,  which  the 
negroes  and  Yankees  are  going  to  celebrate.  But 
while  we  sympathize  with  their  intentions,  we  think  it 
best  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  barbecue,  as  it  is  a 
public  affair,  and  as  father's  Union  sentiments  are  so 
well  known,  it  might  look  like  a  want  of  respect  for 
him.  Garnett,  Capt.  Semmes,  and  the  Elzeys  all  ad- 
vise against  it,  too,  and  I  agree  with  them,  that  simply 
to  ignore  the  Yankees  is  more  dignified  than  any  posi- 
tive action.  The  Irvin  Artillery  are  at  the  head  of  the 
project  and  we  didn't  want  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  the 
boys  by  giving  them  a  direct  refusal,  so  we  just  told 
them  that  we  couldn't  promise  to  serve  on  their  com- 
mittee without  first  consulting  our  father  and  brothers. 
July  1,  Saturday. — Our  gentlemen,  with  about  12 
others  in  the  village,  gave  a  barbecue  complimentary 
to  Capt.  Stephen  Pettus,  who  has  entertained  them  so 
often.  Barbecues,  both  public  and  private,  are  raging 
with  a  fury  that  seems  determined  to  make  amends  for 
the  four  years  intermission  caused  by  the  war,  but  I 
think  there  ought  to  be  another  intermission,  and  a 
good  long  one,  after  the  results  of  the  carousal  to-day. 
I  never  did  believe  in  these  entertainments  for  men 
only;  they  are  so  apt  to  forget  themselves  when  there 
are  no  ladies  about  to  keep  them  straight.  The  whole 
party  came  back  to  town  with  more  liquor  aboard  than 
they  could  hold,  except  Eddie  Morgan ;  he  was  the  only 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  325 

sober  one  in  the  whole  crowd.  ...  It  really  would 
have  been  comical  if  it  hadn't  turned  out  so  seriously. 
Our  Beau  Brummel  came  blundering  home  just  before 
supper,  while  I  was  talking  with  some  visitors  on 
the  piazza,  with  just  sense  enough  left  to  know  that  he 
couldn't  trust  himself.  He  tried  very  hard  not  to  be- 
tray his  condition,  and  spoke  with  such  a  precision  and 
elaboration  of  utterance  that  I  could  hardly  keep  from 
laughing  outright.  When  the  visitors  had  gone  he 
began  to  protest,  in  language  worthy  of  Sir  Piercy 
Shafton,  that  he  was  not  drunk — he  never  did  such  an 
ungentlemanly  thing  as  that — but  only  a  little  tight, 
and  then  asked  in  a  tone  of  the  most  exaggerated 
courtesy,  like  a  courtier  addressing  his  sovereign,  if  I 
would  not  have  a  brush  and  comb  brought  out  to  him 
on  the  piazza,  so  that  he  could  make  himself  presenta- 
ble before  mother  saw  him !  It  was  all  so  absurd  that 
I  fairly  roared,  in  spite  of  myself.  I  lit  a  candle  and 
started  him  upstairs  to  his  room,  where  he  managed, 
somehow  or  other,  to  get  himself  in  hand  by  supper- 
time.  Garnett  came  straggling  in  just  before  we  got 
up  from  the  table  and  was  so  afraid  of  betraying  him- 
self that  he  never  once  opened  his  mouth  to  say  a  word 
to  anybody.  We  can  always  tell  when  he  has  made  a 
slip  overboard  by  the  rigid  silence  he  maintains.  It  is 
as  full  of  meaning  as  the  "  beau's "  overstrained 
courtesy. 

But  the  serious  part  of  the  business  is  Henry's  ex- 
ploit.    The  whole  affair  might  have  passed  off  as  a 


326      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

joke,  but  for  that.  He  came  home  too  far  gone  for 
anything  except  to  be  put  to  bed,  but  before  making 
that  proper  disposition  of  himself,  he  went  round  to 
the  hotel,  where  Capt.  Cooley  and  the  other  officers  of 
the  garrison  are  boarding,  and  "  cussed  out  "  the  whole 
lot.  Garnett,  and  Anderson  Reese,  who  had  taken 
charge  of  him,  did  their  best  to  hold  him  back,  and 
apologized  to  the  commandant,  explaining  that  Henry 
was  in  liquor,  and  they  hoped  no  notice  would  be  taken 
of  his  irresponsible  utterances.  But  the  Yankee  saw 
that  they  were  pretty  far  gone  on  the  same  road  them- 
selves, and  I  suppose  did  not  regard  the  apology  any 
more  than  he  ought  to  have  regarded  the  insult,  under 
the  circumstances.  To  make  matters  worse,  when 
they  had  at  last  gotten  Henry  quiet  and  were  carrying 
him  off  home,  as  they  were  passing  through  the  square, 
he  happened  to  spy  a  party  of  Yankee  soldiers  on  a 
corner,  and  stopped  to  pay  his  respects  to  them  in  lan- 
guage which  made  them  furious.  Garnett  tried  to 
appease  them  by  explaining  his  brother's  condition, 
which  was  sufficiently  apparent  of  itself  to  anybody 

not   looking   for  an   excuse  to  annoy   a   "  d d  " 

rebel. 

Capt.  Cooley  is  reported  to  have  said  that  if  the 
barbecue  projected  for  the  purpose  of  throwing 
contempt  on  the  Fourth  does  take  place,  he  will 
leave  this  post  and  send  a  garrison  of  negro  troops 
here.  If  he  carries  out  the  threat  I  hope  our 
citizens  will   resist,   be   the  consequences   what  they 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  327 

may.     I  would  rather  die  than  submit  to  such  an 
indignity. 

July  2,  Sunday. — Henry's  escapade  threatens  to  turn 
out  a  very  serious  affair.  Soon  after  breakfast  there 
came  an  anonymous  note  to  father  saying  that  Capt. 
Cooley  had  started  for  Augusta  on  the  morning  train, 
but  had  left  orders  with  one  of  his  lieutenants  to  arrest 
Henry  immediately  and  send  him  to  jail.  Father  went  to 
see  the  officer  and  prevailed  on  him  to  put  off  the  arrest 
for  one  hour,  till  Henry  could  find  friends  to  stand 
bail  for  him.  This  saved  him  from  being  sent  to  jail, 
but  I  fear  it  may  go  hard  with  him  in  the  end.  Any 
Southerner  would  have  dropped  the  matter  at  once 
after  finding  that  Henry  was  in  his  cups  and  not  re- 
sponsible; or  if  he  chose  to  resent  the  insult,  would 
have  demanded  satisfaction  in  the  proper  way,  like  a 
gentleman;  but  this  Yankee  shopkeeper  prefers  to  de- 
fend his  honor  with  the  long  arm  of  the  law.  Our 
returned  soldier  boys  have  bedeviled  him  in  a  thousand 
ways  that  he  can't  take  up,  just  like  we  school  children 
used  to  worry  our  Yankee  teachers  before  the  war,  and 
he  is  no  doubt  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  to  make  an 
example  of  somebody.  I  am  afraid  the  weight  of  his 
wrath  will  fall  heavy  on  poor  Henry,  unless  father  can 
have  influence  enough  to  save  him.  Henry  did  wrong, 
undoubtedly,  and  he  knows  it.  He  is  so  mortified  at 
the  thought  of  his  indiscretion  that  he  hadn't  the  face 
to  show  himself  even  to  the  family  till  late  this  even- 
ing, and  then  he  looked  so  sheepish  and  guilty  that  we 


328      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

all  felt  sorry  for  him  and  tried  to  make  him  feel  more 
comfortable  by  acting  as  if  we  didn't  know  of  what  he 
had  done.  After  all,  such  accidents  are  liable  to  hap- 
pen when  men  get  off  by  themselves,  with  no  ladies 
present  to  act  as  a  restraint  on  them.  Anybody  else 
might  have  done  the  same  thing,  and  we  can  all  sym- 
pathize with  him  anyway,  in  wanting  to  "  cuss  out  " 
the  Yankees.  Garnett  and  Capt.  Hudson  pretend  to 
be  on  the  stool  of  repentance  too,  but  every  now  and 
then  they  forget  their  role  of  "  bons  gargons "  and 
begin  to  tell  some  of  the  funny  things  that  were  done 
by  the  "  other  fellows."  * 

July  3,  Monday. — The  boys  came  again  to  beg  us 
to  attend  their  barbecue  on  the  6th,  but  after  the 
recent  experiences  in  our  family,  I  don't  think  any- 
body can  blame  us  for  preferring  to  keep  quiet 
awhile. 

Cousin  Liza  says  people  are  talking  dreadfully  about 
that  meeting  at  the  courthouse  the  other  day.  None 
of  us  knows  exactly  what  did  happen.  The  boys 
(Henry  and  Garnett)  wouldn't  stay  to  hear,  and  we 

*  I  have  hesitated  a  long  time  about  the  propriety  of  publishing 
the  story  of  this  unlucky  barbecue,  but  some  of  the  incidents  con- 
nected with  it  are  so  characteristic  of  the  time  that  I  have  decided 
not  to  depart  from  my  rule  of  using  the  utmost  frankness  possible 
in  giving  to  the  public  this  record  of  what  may  now  be  almost 
considered  a  bygone  age.  No  entertainment  was  complete  with- 
out "something  to  drink,"  and  an  occasional  over-indulgence,  if 
not  carried  too  far,  nor  repeated  too  often,  was  regarded,  at  worst, 
as  a  pardonable  accident. 

The  sequel  to  my  brother  Henry's  adventure  has  been  lost  in 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  329 

are  all  afraid  to  ask  father,  because  some  of  us  would 
be  sure  to  say  something  that  would  start  a  family- 
row.  If  it  wasn't  for  Cousin  Liza  and  her  little  black 
umbrella,  that  go  poking  into  everything,  we  should 
never  have  known  what  a  tempest  was  stirring  outside. 
But  I  don't  believe  anybody  in  Washington  would  say 
anything  bad  about  father;  they  all  know  him  too  well. 
I  wish  Mr.  Cotting  and  Mr.  Akerman  were  both  a 
thousand  miles  away.  They  are  his  chief  cronies,  and 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  were  at  the  bottom  of 
the  whole  thing. 

July  4,  Tuesday. — I  was  awakened  at  daybreak  by 
the  noisy  salutes  fired  by  the  Yankees  in  honor  of  the 
day.  They  had  a  nigger  barbecue  out  at  our  old  picnic 
ground,  the  Cool  Spring,  where  they  no  doubt  found 
themselves  in  congenial  society,  with  their  black 
Dulcineas.  They  have  strung  up  one  of  their 
flags  across  the  sidewalk,  where  we  have  to  pass 
on  our  way  to  the  bank,  so  I  shall  be  forced  to  walk 
all  around  the  square,  in  future,  to  keep  from  going 
under  it. 

The  decent  people  of  the  town  celebrated  this  anni- 


the  numerous  mutilations  which  this  part  of  the  MS.  has  suffered. 
To  the  best  of  my  recollection  the  "  little  Yankee  shopkeeper  " 
acted  the  part  of  a  gentleman  throughout.  A  small  fine  of  some 
$25  or  $30  was  imposed,  with  a  private  explanation  from  the  Fed- 
eral captain  that  he  would  have  been  glad  to  overlook  the  matter 
altogether,  but  his  men  were  so  incensed  by  Henry's  language  to 
them  that  he  was  obliged  to  impose  some  penalty  in  order  to  sat- 
isfy them. 

22 


330      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

versary  of  our  forefathers'  folly  by  keeping  themselves 
shut  up  at  home — except  those  of  us  who  celebrated 
it  very  appropriately  by  attending  a  funeral.  Mary 
Wynn's  mother  died  yesterday  and  was  brought  to 
town  this  afternoon  for  interment.  Mrs.  Ben  Jordan 
and  Mrs.  Wilkerson  came  in  with  the  cortege  and 
dined  at  our  house,  and  Mett  and  I  couldn't  do  less 
than  go  with  them  to  the  funeral.  It  was  three  o'clock, 
and  the  heat  and  dust  nearly  killed  me,  but  as  the  old 
lady  had  to  die  anyway,  I  am  glad  she  furnished  such 
a  lugubrious  celebration  for  the  "  glorious  Fourth." 
The  Yankees  gained  it  no  favor,  waking  people  up  be- 
fore day  with  their  vexatious  salutes.  Every  good 
rebel,  as  he  turned  over  in  bed,  gave  them  and  their 
day  a  silent  execration  for  disturbing  his  slumbers. 
I  never  heard  such  hideous  noises  as  they  made — 
but  I  suppose  it  was  only  proper  that  the  reign  of 
pandemonium  should  be  celebrated  with  diabolical 
sounds. 

Our  negroes  all  went  to  the  mongrel  barbecue,  so 
Mett  and  I  had  most  of  the  housework  to  do,  and  were 
tired  out  when  the  day  was  over. 

July  7,  Friday. — The  rebel  "  cue "  came  off 
yesterday,  in  spite  of  Capt.  Cooley's  threats  to 
stop  it,  but  Capt.  Semmes  tells  me  it  was  hot  enough 
to  roast  a  salamander,  and  nobody  enjoyed  it  very 
much. 

The  Toombs  girls  spent  the  morning  with  us.  John 
Ficklen  dropped  in  and  we  kept  tolerably  cool  in  our 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  33i 

large,  airy  parlor,  but  I  have  been  too  ailing  and  lan- 
guid all  the  week  to  take  much  interest  in  any- 
thing. After  dinner  I  arranged  my  hair  in  a  new 
style  and  crawled  out  to  the  dancing  circle.  The 
Elzeys  called  after  tea,  but  I  could  not  interest  myself 
even  in  them.  I  am  really  ill — so  weak  that  I  can 
scarcely  talk,  and  with  all  my  fondness  for  company, 
it  taxes  my  powers  to  entertain  the  visitors  who 
call. 

The  Yankees  have  pulled  down  the  shanties  in  front 
of  our  street  gate  at  last,  and  turned  the  negroes  out 
of  doors.  They  are  living  as  they  can,  under  trees  and 
hedges,  and  some  of  them  have  no  shelter  but  an  old 
blanket  stretched  over  a  pole,  or  a  few  boards  propped 
against  a  fence.  It  is  distressing  to  see  the  poor 
wretches  in  such  a  plight,  but  what  is  to  be  done? 
The  Yankees  have  taken  them  out  of  our  hands,  and 
we  Southerners  are  not  to  blame  for  what  happens  to 
them  now.  I  hate  to  go  into  the  street,  because  in 
doing  so  I  have  to  pass  that  scene  of  wretchedness  and 
vice.  They  live  by  stealing — and  worse.  Everybody 
in  the  neighborhood  suffers  from  their  depredations. 
The  common  soldiers  associate  with  them,  but  the 
officers  do  not,  under  the  present  administration.  They 
seem  to  have  no  scruples  about  beating  and  ill-using 
them  if  they  trouble  their  sacred  majesties.  One  of 
their  favorite  punishments  is  to  hang  offenders  up  by 
the  thumbs,  which  I  think  is  a  horrible  piece  of  bar- 
barism.    It  would  be  much  more  merciful,   and  the 


332      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

negroes  would  understand  it  better,  if  they  would  give 
them  a  good  whipping  and  let  them  go.  I  am  almost 
as  sorry  for  these  poor,  deluded  negroes  as  for  their 
masters,  but  there  is  indignation  mingled  with  my  pity. 
There  are  sad  changes  in  store  for  both  races,  who 
were  once  so  happy  together.  I  wonder  the  Yankees 
do  not  shudder  to  behold  their  work.  My  heart  sick- 
ens when  I  see  our  once  fat,  lazy,  well-fed  servants 
reduced  to  a  condition  as  miserable  as  the  most 
wretched  of  their  brethren  in  Africa,  and  the  grand 
old  planters,  who  used  to  live  like  lords,  toiling  for 
their  daily  bread.  Maj.  Dunwody  is  trying  to  raise  a 
little  money  by  driving  an  express  wagon  between 
Washington  and  Abbeville,  and  Fred  writes  from 
Yazoo  City  that  he  found  one  of  his  old  neighbors,  the 
owner  of  a  big  plantation  in  the  Delta,  working  as  a 
deck-hand  on  a  dirty  little  river  steamer,  hardly  fit 
to  ship  cotton  on. 

Capt.  Cooley  has  returned  from  Augusta,  and  they 
say  he  is  going  to  deal  hardly  with  Henry.  The  young 
men  of  the  county  take  so  much  interest  in  the  affair, 
and  express  such  sympathy  with  him,  that  there  are 
threats  of  a  general  row.  .  .  .  Two  ladies  of  our  family 
have  been  insulted  by  Yankee  soldiers.  One  of  them 
met  Cousin  Liza  alone  in  the  street  as  she  was  coming 
home  late  this  afternoon,  and  said,  with  an  insolent 
laugh :  "  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  "  Another  ran 
against  Metta  on  the  sidewalk  and  almost  knocked  her 
down.     We  don't  dare  to  speak  of  these  things  where 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  333 

the  gentlemen  of  the  family  can  hear  us,  for  fear  they 
might  knock  somebody  down,  and  cause  fresh  trouble. 
It  wouldn't  do  for  any  of  this  family  to  raise  another 
row  while  Henry's  case  is  hanging  in  the  balance.  We 
have  to  submit  to  everything  put  upon  us,  or  humiliate 
ourselves  still  more  by  appealing     .     .     .* 

July  14,  Friday. — Making  calls  all  the  morning  with 
Mrs.  Elzey,  and  came  home  to  dinner  very  tired  and 
hungry.  The  general  and  Mrs.  Elzey  are  really  going 
to  leave  on  Monday  with  Capt.  Hudson,  if  they  can 
raise  the  money. 

Col.  Coulter  Cabel,  an  army  friend  of  Garnett's,  en 
route  from  Richmond  to  Augusta,  is  stopping  with  us. 
He  was  a  dashing  cavalry  officer  in  the  dear  old  rebel 
army,  but  does  not  look  very  dashy  now,  in  the  suit  of 
seedy  black  resurrected  from  heaven  knows  where,  to 
which  the  proscription  of  the  gray  and  the  exigencies 
of  a  Confederate  pocketbook  have  reduced  him.  It 
is  a  droll  thing  to  see  the  queer  costumes  our  Confed- 
erate officers  have  brought  to  light  out  of  old  chests 
and  lumber  rooms,  since  they  have  had  to  lay 
aside  their  uniforms,  but  I  like  them  better  in  the 
meanest  rags  to  which  they  can  be  reduced  than  I 
did  even  in  the  palmiest  days  of  brass  buttons  and 
gold  lace. 

Gen.  Elzey  took  tea  with  us  and  the  Lawtons  called 
afterwards    to    see    Col.    Cabel.      Capt.    and    Mary 

*  Three  pages  are  missing  here.  This  part  of  the  MS.  is  much 
torn  and  defaced. 


334      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Semmes,  Ed  Morgan,  Will  Ficklen,  and  a  number  of 
others,  came  round  in  the  face  of  a  big  thunder  cloud, 
to  dance.  We  had  a  merry  evening  and  kept  it  up  till 
12  o'clock.  The  general  danced  round  dances  for  the 
first  time  in  five  years,  and  chose  me  for  his  partner 
every  time,  which  I  took  as  a  great  compliment.  He 
said  he  liked  my  way  of  dancing.  I  was  agreeably 
surprised  that  the  evening  should  have  been  such  a 
success,  for  the  threatening  weather  kept  away  nearly 
half  our  club  members,  and  I  was  so  disappointed  at 
not  being  able  to  get  my  new  white  dress  from 
Mrs.  Crenshaw  that  I  didn't  expect  to  enjoy  myself 
at  all. 

July  1 6,  Sunday. — The  Elzeys'  last  day  in  Wash- 
ington, and  our  last  pleasant  evening  together.  They 
took  tea  with  us,  and  we  tried  hard  to  be  cheerful,  but 
the  thought  that  we  shall  probably  never  all  sit  together 
again  around  that  cheery  old  table,  where  so  many 
friends  have  met,  came  like  a  wet  blanket  between  us 
and  mirth.  The  captain  and  Cousin  Boiling  are  going 
to  make  their  home  in  New  Orleans.  The  Elzeys  re- 
turn to  Baltimore. 

.  .  .  When  Touchy's  turn  came  to  say  good-by, 
he  didn't  seem  to  know  exactly  how  far  to  go,  but 
Metta  told  him  that  if  he  grew  up  to  be  as  nice  as  he 
is  now,  she  would  want  to  kiss  him  and  couldn't,  if 
we  ever  met  again,  so  she  would  take  the  opportunity 
now — and  so  we  gave  the  handsome  boy  a  smack  all 
round,  and  sent  him  off  laughing.     The  general  took 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  335 

leave  earlier  than  usual,  and  with  sad  hearts  we  saw 
his  soldierly  figure  in  the  well-known  white  army 
jacket,  moving,  for  the  last  time,  down  the  front  walk. 
"  General,"  I  said,  as  we  parted  at  the  head  of  the 
steps,  "  I  feel  if  I  am  shaking  hands  with  the  Con- 
federacy; you  are  the  last  relic  of  it  that  is  left  us." 
.  .  .  [MS.  torn.] 


336     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  PROLOGUE  TO  RECONSTRUCTION 

Explanatory  Note. — I  have  no  apology  to  make  for 
the  indignation  and  resentment  that  fill  the  remaining 
pages  of  this  record.  The  time  has  come,  I  believe,  when 
the  nation's  returning  sense  of  justice  has  outgrown  the 
blind  passions  engendered  by  war  sufficiently  to  admit 
that  the  circumstances  narrated  fully  justified  the  feelings 
they  awakened.  These  events  mark  the  beginning  of  that 
deplorable  succession  of  blunders  and  outrages  that  has 
bequeathed  us  the  most  terrible  legacy  of  the  war — the 
race  problem ;  a  problem  which,  unless  the  common  sense 
of  the  nation  shall  awaken,  and  that  right  early,  to  the 
simple  fact  that  a  horse  and  an  ox,  or  an  elephant  and  an 
antelope,  cannot  pull  together  in  the  same  harness,  will 
settle  itself  before  another  generation  has  passed  in  a 
tragedy  compared  with  which  the  tragedy  of  the  Civil 
War  was  child's  play. 


July  — ,  .  .  .  . — The  Toombs  girls  invited  us  to 
meet  Mr.  Van  Houten,  a  blind  musician  from  Eufaula, 
this  afternoon.  He  played  beautifully,  but  wanted 
you  to  be  always  going  into  raptures  over  him.  He 
is  so  sensitive,  that  he  can't  bear  to  be  reminded  of 
his  blindness  in  any  way,  and  I  couldn't  help  admir- 
ing one  very  tactful  thing  Jenny  did  to  spare  him. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  337 

He  is  accustomed  to  have  people  shake  hands  with 
him  when  they  are  introduced,  as  that  is  the  only  form 
of  greeting  he  can  perceive,  and  when  Jenny  intro- 
duced Mary  Lane,  he  put  out  his  hand  as  usual,  for 
her  to  take.  Mary  wasn't  noticing,  and  failed  to  re- 
spond, so  Jenny  quietly  slipped  her  own  hand  into  his, 
and  he  never  knew  the  difference.  I  wonder,  though, 
he  didn't  detect  the  subterfuge,  for  the  touch  of  blind 
people  is  very  sensitive,  and  Jenny's  hand  is  so  exqui- 
sitely soft  and  delicate  that  there  are  not  many  others 
in  the  world  like  it.  I  tried  to  imitate  Jenny's  con- 
siderateness  by  talking  about  subjects  where  blind  peo- 
ple can  feel  at  home,  and  when  the  rest  of  the  company 
rushed  to  the  windows  to  see  the  negroes  pass  on  their 
way  to  hear  the  New  England  apostle,  Dr.  French, 
give  his  lecture,  I  tried  to  keep  him  from  feeling  that 
he  was  losing  anything,  by  pretending  that  I  would 
much  rather  stay  inside  and  listen  to  the  music.  But 
all  the  time  I  was  craning  my  neck,  to  see  what  was 
going  on.  The  negroes  looked  very  funny  in  their 
holiday  attire,  going  to  hear  "  the  Frenchman,"  as 
they  call  this  missionary  from  the  Freedman's  Bureau, 
expound  to  them  the  gospel  according  to  Phillips,  Gar- 
rison &  Co.  The  meeting  was  held  in  Mr.  Barnett's 
grove,  much  against  his  will,  it  is  said,  but  he  didn't 
think  it  wise  to  refuse,  and  the  negroes  flocked  there 
by  thousands.  I  could  hardly  have  believed  there  were 
so  many  in  the  county.  The  Yankees  tried  to  get 
father's  grove  for  their  precious  conventicle,  but  to  my 


338      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

delight  he  refused,  on  the  ground  that  he  didn't  want 
his  grass  trampled  on,  .  .  .  [MS.  mutilated;  two 
pages  missing.] 

.  .  .  We  have  great  fears  of  a  negro  garrison 
being  sent  here,  and  then,  Heaven  have  mercy  on  us! 
The  white  Yankees  are  getting  so  rude  that  ladies  are 
afraid  to  walk  on  the  streets  alone.  Corinne  Lawton 
and  Mrs.  Matilda  Dunwody  have  both  been  insolently 
ordered  off  the  sidewalk  by  Yankee  soldiers,  to  make 
way  for  their  negro  companions,  and  it  is  said  some 
of  them  have  expressed  a  determination  to  insult  every 
Southern  woman  they  meet.  The  only  thing  they  al- 
lege against  us  is  that  we  are  such  d d  rebels  we 

take  no  more  notice  of  them  than  if  they  were  dogs, 
and  will  not  even  look  toward  them  when  they  pass — 
as  if  we  hadn't  the  right  to  turn  away  from  sights  that 
hurt  our  eyes! 

July  21,  Friday. — Garnett  returned  at  two  o'clock 
this  morning  from  Abbeville,  bringing  a  wounded  sol- 
dier in  the  carriage  with  him,  and  parting  messages 
from  our  friends.  Father  sent  them  as  far  as  Abbe- 
ville in  his  carriage,  and  from  there  they  expect  to 
make  their  way  somehow  back  to  their  homes.  We 
had  no  callers  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  which  was  a 
great  relief,  for  I  feel  used  up,  and  the  weather  is  too 
hot  for  anything  but  to  sit  undressed  in  my  own  room. 
I  go  in  deshabille  most  of  the  time,  now  that  the  house 
is  free  of  guests,  keeping  a  dress  and  coiffure  ready  to 
fling  on  at  a  moment's  notice,  when  visitors  are  seen 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  339 

coming  up  the  avenue.  I  think  it  is  dreadfully  vulgar 
to  go  dowdy  about  the  house,  but  what  is  one  to  do 
when  one  has  hardly  clothes  enough  to  be  respectable 
when  one  goes  out,  and  no  money  to  buy  any  more? 
And  we  have  to  do  so  much  hard  work,  too,  now,  that 
our  clothes  would  not  last  a  month  if  we  were  to  wear 
them  around  all  the  time,  when  there  is  no  one  here. 
It  is  too  hot  to  wear  clothes,  anyway.  I  sometimes 
wish  that  old  Mother  Eve  had  not  set  the  fashion  for 
fig  leaves.  An  opportune  thunder  storm,  the  only  one 
we  have  had  since  Monday,  came  up  just  in  time  to 
cool  the  air  for  us  and  catch  Dr.  French  in  the  midst 
of  his  daily  ceremonies  with  the  negroes.  I  was  sorry 
for  the  poor  darkeys  to  get  their  Sunday  clothes  spoilt, 
but  I  hope  "  the  Frenchman  "  will  catch  a  cough  that 
will  stop  that  pestiferous  windpipe  of  his  and  follow 
him  to — his  last  resting  place,  wherever  that  may  be. 
These  hypocritical  Puritans  love  to  nurse  and  coddle 
themselves  and  enjoy  the  fat  of  the  land,  but  they  will 
find  no  worshiping  Mrs.  Wellers  here  to  feed  their 
"  shepherd  "  on  pineapple  rum  and  toast.  The  negro 
sisters  adore  him,  but  they  are  too  poor  to  feast  him, 
except  on  what  they  can  pilfer,  and  Southern  cup- 
boards are,  as  a  rule,  too  empty  just  now  to  furnish  fat 
pickings.  The  poor  dupes  say  they  believe  he  is  Jesus 
Christ — "  anyhow,  he  has  done  more  for  them  than 
Jesus  Christ  ever  did."  They  don't  know  what  horrid 
blasphemy  they  are  talking,  and  so  are  not  to  be  held 
responsible.     My  feeling  for  them  is  one  of  unmixed 


340      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

pity.  Take  it  all  in  all,  they  have  behaved  remarkably 
well,  considering  the  circumstances.  The  apostles  of 
freedom  are  doing  their  best  to  make  them  insolent  and 
discontented,  and  after  awhile,  I  suppose,  they  will 
succeed  in  making  them  thoroughly  unmanageable,  but 
come  what  will,  I  don't  think  I  can  ever  cherish  any 
very  hard  feelings  towards  the  poor,  ignorant  blacks. 
They  are  like  grown  up  children  turned  adrift  in  the 
world.  The  negro  is  something  like  the  Irishman  in 
his  blundering  good  nature,  his  impulsiveness  and  im- 
providence, and  he  is  like  a  child  in  having  always  had 
some  one  to  think  and  act  for  him.  Poor  creatures, 
I  shudder  to  think  of  what  they  must  suffer  in  the 
future,  and  of  what  they  are  going  to  make  this  whole 
country  suffer  before  we  are  done  with  them.  The 
streets  of  Washington  are  crowded  all  the  time  with 
idle  men  and  women  who  have  no  means  of  support. 
They  are  loitering  in  the  shade  of  every  hedge  and 
tree,  and  gossiping  in  every  cabin  doorway.  Where 
they  lodge,  Heaven  only  knows,  but  how  they  are  fed, 
the  state  of  our  orchards  and  cornfields  can  testify. 
Capt.  Cooley  hung  up  two  by  the  thumbs  the  other 
day,  for  robbing  father's  orchard,  but  the  discipline 
was  of  no  avail,  for  we  have  not  gathered  a  full-grown 
peach  or  pear  this  season.  Roasting-ears  are  pleasant 
food,  and  to  be  had  for  the — taking;  our  early  corn 
gave  out  before  we  had  used  it  a  week.  Ben  Jones 
shot  a  negro  the  other  night,  for  stealing  in  Mr.  Wad- 
dey's  garden,  and  it  is  a  miracle  that  he  escaped  being 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  341 

put  in  jail.  Fortunately  the  negro  wasn't  hurt. 
Negroes  may  kill  white  men  whenever  they  please,  pro- 
vided the  white  man  wears  not  a  blue  coat,  but  woe  to 
the  white  man  that  touches  a  negro !     .     .     . 

That  murder  case  into  which  Gen.  Wild  and  Dr. 
French  have  been  prying  for  the  last  week  has  wrought 
these  apostles  up  to  a  state  of  boundless  indignation, 
and  father  is  afraid  it  will  bring  their  vengeance  upon 
the  town.  He  is  counsel  for  the  defense,  and  I  don't 
think  he  feels  any  too  much  respect  for  his  clients, 
though  it  is  his  duty,  as  their  lawyer,  to  make  out  the 
best  case  he  can  for  them.  He  don't  say  much  about 
the  case  because  conversation  on  such  subjects  nearly 
always  brings  on  a  political  row  in  the  family,  and  we 
are  all  so  afraid  of  starting  a  fracas  that  we  are  con- 
strained and  uneasy  whenever  anything  touching  on 
politics,  no  matter  how  remotely,  is  mentioned.  How- 
ever, from  the  little  I  have  heard  father  tell,  I  am 
afraid  this  murder  is  a  very  ugly  affair.  It  seems  his 
clients  are  accused  of  having  killed  an  old  negro  woman 
because  she  left  her  master's  plantation  to  go  off  and 
try  the  blessings  of  freedom.  She  certainly  was  an 
old  fool,  but  I  have  never  yet  heard  that  folly  was  a 
capital  offense.  One  of  the  men  is  said  to  have  shot 
her,  while  the  other  broke  her  ribs  and  beat  her  on  the 
head  with  a  stone  till  she  died.  They  left  her  unburied 
in  a  lonely  place,  and  the  body  was  not  discovered  till 
ten  days  after.  In  spite  of  the  stench,  father  says 
Gen.  Wild  examined  the  body  with  ghoulish  curiosity, 


342      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

even  pulling  out  the  broken  ribs  and  staring  at  them. 
And  all  the  while  the  old  woman's  son  stood  looking 
on  with  stolid  indifference,  less  moved  than  I  would  be 
over  the  carcass  of  a  dead  animal.  Gen.  Wild  was 
bred  a  doctor  and  didn't  seem  to  mind  the  most  sicken- 
ing details.  Father  says  he  would  rather  have  the 
sharpest  lawyer  in  Georgia  as  his  opposing  counsel 
than  these  shrewd,  painstaking  Yankees.  Capt. 
Cooley  was  sent  out  to  collect  evidence,  and  even 
brought  back  the  stone  which  was  said  to  be  the  one 
with  which  the  poor  old  creature  was  beaten  on  the 
head.  There  is  only  negro  evidence  for  all  these  hor- 
rors, and  nobody  can  tell  how  much  of  it  is  false,  but 
that  makes  no  difference  with  a  Yankee  court.  Father 
thinks  one  of  the  men  is  sure  to  hang,  and  he  has  very 
little  hope  of  saving  the  other.  The  latter  is  a  man  of 
family,  and  his  poor  wife  is  at  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  hotel, 
almost  starving  herself  to  death  from  grief.  She  has 
left  her  little  children  at  home  by  themselves,  and  they 
say  that  when  the  Yankees  went  there  to  arrest  their 
father,  they  were  so  frightened  that  two  of  them  went 
into  convulsions;  they  had  heard  such  dreadful  things 
about  what  the  Yankees  had  done  during  the  war.  The 
younger  of  the  two  accused  men  is  only  twenty  years 
old,  and  his  poor  old  father  hangs  around  the  court- 
room, putting  his  head  in  every  time  the  door  is  opened, 
trying  to  catch  something  of  what  is  going  on.  He 
is  less  privileged  than  our  dog  Toby,  who  follows 
father  to  the  courthouse  every  day,  and  walks  about 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  343 

the  room  as  if  it  belonged  to  him,  smelling  at  the  Yan- 
kees, and  pricking  up  his  ears  as  if  to  ask  what  busi- 
ness they  had  there.  Father  says  he  would  not,  for 
millions,  have  had  such  a  case  as  this  come  under  the 
eyes  of  the  Yankees  just  at  this  time,  for  they  will  be- 
lieve everything  the  negroes  say  and  put  the  very  worst 
construction  on  it.  Brutal  crimes  happen  in  all  coun- 
tries now  and  then,  especially  in  times  of  disorder  and 
upheaval  such  as  the  South  is  undergoing,  but  the 
North,  fed  on  Mrs.  Stowe's  lurid  pictures,  likes  to  be- 
lieve that  such  things  are  habitual  among  us,  and  this 
horrible  occurrence  will  confirm  them  in  their  opinion. 
Another  unfortunate  affair  took  place  the  other 
night,  in  Lincoln  County.  The  negroes  were  holding 
a  secret  meeting,  which  was  suspected  of  boding  no 
good  to  the  whites,  so  a  party  of  young  men  went  out 
to  break  it  up.  One  of  the  boys,  to  frighten  them, 
shot  off  his  gun  and  accidentally  killed  a  woman.  He 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  anybody,  but  the  Yankees  vow 
they  will  hang  the  whole  batch  if  they  can  find  them. 
Fortunately  he  has  made  his  escape,  and  they  don't 
know  the  names  of  the  others.  Corrie  Calhoun  says 
that  where  she  lives,  about  thirty  miles  from  here,  over 
in  Carolina,  the  men  have  a  recipe  for  putting  trouble- 
some negroes  out  of  the  way  that  the  Yankees  can't 
get  the  key  to.  No  two  go  out  together,  no  one  lets 
another  know  what  he  is  going  to  do,  and  so,  when 
mischievous  negroes  are  found  dead  in  the  woods,  no- 
body knows  who  killed  them.     All  this  is  horrible,  I 


344     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

think.  If  they  want  to  bushwhack  anybody,  why 
don't  they  shoot  Yankees?  The  poor  negroes  don't 
do  us  any  harm  except  when  they  are  put  up  to  it. 
Even  when  they  murdered  that  white  man  and  quar- 
tered him,  I  believe  pernicious  teachings  were  respon- 
sible. Such  things  happen  only  in  places  where  the 
negroes  have  been  corrupted  by  the  teachings  of  such 
wretches  as  this  French  and  Wild. 

I  shall  never  feel  anything  but  friendship  towards 
father's  "  freedmen,"  though  most  of  the  males  have 
left  us.  I  do  not  blame  them  for  trying  to  make  some- 
thing for  themselves.  They  will  have  no  "  ole  mars- 
ter  "  now  to  look  out  for  them  when  they  are  sick  and 
old,  so  they  must  learn  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
They  have  lost  the  advantages  of  slaves,  they  must  gain 
those  of  freemen.  It  is  the  Yankees,  the  accursed 
Yankees,  who  have  done  all  the  mischief  and  tried  to 
set  them  against  us.  There  has  been  more  insolence 
and  crime  among  them  since  that  rascal  French  came 
here  with  his  pernicious  teachings,  than  in  all  the  200 
years  since  they  were  brought  into  the  country.  His 
escort  of  negro  troops  flirt  around  with  the  negro 
women — a  ridiculous  travesty  of  what  used  to  take 
place  among  ourselves  when  Washington  was  filled 
with  Confederate  officers  and  their  brave  men.  Our 
Cinthy  has  two  admirers  among  them  who  call  on  her 
every  night,  and  she  generally  makes  her  appearance 
to  wait  on  the  tea-table  with  her  face  whitened  with 
flour — contributions  being  levied  on  our  biscuit  allow- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  345 

ance,  for  the  purpose  of  beautifying  her  complexion. 
My  bedroom  windows  overlook  the  back  yard,  and 
when  Emily's  house  is  open,  as  it  always  is  in  summer, 
every  word  spoken  there  is  distinctly  audible  in  my 
room.  It  is  as  good  as  an  evening  at  the  Negro  Min- 
strels. I  am  often  regaled  with  scraps  of  conversa- 
tion and  pert  witticisms  that  are  such  absurd  parodies 
upon  what  takes  place  in  our  own  drawing-room  that 
they  seem  almost  like  a  deliberate  attempt  to  burlesque 
Metta  and  me.  After  all,  there  is  a  great  deal  that  is 
farcical  mixed  up  with  all  this  tragedy  we  are  living 
through.  Dr.  French  has  begun  his  reforms  by  giving 
out  that  he  will  remarry  all  negro  couples  who  have 
not  been  lawfully  married  already  by  a  Christian 
minister.  He  worded  his  notice  in  the  most  sensa- 
tional style,  like  the  news  columns  in  the  New  York 
"  Herald,"  and  ordered  the  white  ministers  of  Wash- 
ington to  read  it  out  from  their  pulpits.  Mr.  Tupper 
refused,  but  the  other  two  complied.  No  private  prop- 
erty could  be  obtained  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
apostle  and  his  followers — not  that  anybody  objected 
to  the  harmless  farce  of  remarrying  the  negroes,  but 
nobody  wanted  their  grounds  polluted  by  the  spoutings 
of  such  a  creature.  His  very  presence  in  a  town  where 
his  first  footfall  would  once  have  been  his  death  war- 
rant, is  a  sufficient  disgrace. 

After  fruitless  efforts  to  secure  father's,  Cousin  Will 
Pope's,  and  Mr.  Barnett's  groves,  he  had  to  take  the 
negro  cemetery  for  the  scene  of  his  performances.  Ac- 

23 


346      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

cordingly,  about  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  candi- 
dates for  double  matrimonial  honors  went  trooping 
out  to  their  cemetery  on  the  Tan  Yard  Branch  to  be 
married  over  again.  If  there  is  anything  in  omens, 
never  were  nuptials  more  inauspicious.  The  ceremo- 
nies were  interrupted  by  a  thunder  storm  that  drenched 
the  composite  bridal  party  and  all  the  spectators — the 
"  shepherd  "  taking  care  to  shelter  himself  under  a  big 
umbrella  that  one  of  his  worshipers  held  over  him. 
Mammy,  who  tells  me  all  the  negro  news,  says  that 
thirty-three  couples  were  married.  Among  them  was 
our  Charity,  who  six  years  ago  was  lawfully  married 
in  the  Methodist  church  here,  to  Mr.  Waddy's  Peter. 
I  remember  how  father  joked  Peter,  when  he  came  to 
ask  for  Charity,  about  having  him  for  a  "  nigger-in- 
law,"  but  now,  Charity  has  taken  to  herself  Hamp,  one 
of  father's  plantation  hands — a  big,  thick-lipped  fel- 
low, not  half  as  respectable  looking  as  Peter — but  there 
is  no  accounting  for  taste.  Several  other  marriages 
of  the  same  "  double  "  kind  took  place,  which  would 
bring  the  saintly  doctor  under  the  laws  against  bigamy, 
if  anybody  cared  enough  about  the  matter  to  prosecute 
him.  I  was  amused  at  Charity  when  she  came  home 
in  the  evening.  She  went  about  her  work  as  usual, 
but  when  I  stepped  into  the  back  porch  to  get  some 
water,  she  stopped  in  the  midst  of  it  to  tell  me  that 
she  now  had  two  names,  like  white  folks. 

"  Oh,"    said    I,    laughing,    "  what    is    your    new 
name? " 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  347 

"  Tatom;  I'se  Mrs.  Tatom  now,  and  Hamp  is  Mr. 
Sam  Ampey  Tatom." 

It  sounded  so  like  "  amputation  "  that  I  could  hardly 
keep  a  straight  face. 

"  And  how  did  Hamp  get  all  that  name?  "  I  asked. 

"  His  grandfather  used  to  belong  to  a  Mr.  Tatom," 
she  answered,  "  so  he  took  his  name  for  his  entitles. 
Dr.  French  tole  us  we  mus'  all  have  surnames  now,  an' 
call  our  childern  by  'em,  an'  drop  nicknames." 

I  notice  that  the  negroes  seldom  or  never  take  the 
names  of  their  present  owners  in  adopting  their  "  en- 
titles," as  they  call  their  surnames,  but  always  that 
of  some  former  master,  and  they  go  as  far  back  as 
possible.  It  was  the  name  of  the  actual  owner  that 
distinguished  them  in  slavery,  and  I  suppose  they  wish 
to  throw  off  that  badge  of  servitude.  Then,  too,  they 
have  their  notions  of  family  pride.  All  these  changes 
are  very  sad  to  me,  in  spite  of  their  comic  side.  There 
will  soon  be  no  more  old  mammies  and  daddies,  no 
more  old  uncles  and  aunties.  Instead  of  "  maum 
Judy  "  and  "  uncle  Jacob,"  we  shall  have  our  "  Mrs. 
Ampey  Tatoms,"  and  our  "  Mr.  Lewis  Williamses." 
The  sweet  ties  that  bound  our  old  family  servants  to 
us  will  be  broken  and  replaced  with  envy  and  ill-will. 
I  am  determined  it  shall  not  be  so  with  ours,  unless 
they  do  something  to  forfeit  my  respect.  Father  be- 
friends his  men  in  every  possible  way.  When  they 
fail  to  get  work  elsewhere,  he  tells  them  they  can  al- 
ways come  to  him  and  he  will  give  them  food  and 


348      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

shelter  till  they  can  do  better.  He  tries  to  find  situa- 
tions for  them,  and  they  in  return  seem  as  fond  of  us 
all  as  ever.  Father's  negroes  always  were  devoted  to 
him,  and  well  they  might  be,  for  he  was  a  good,  kind 
master  to  them.  Emily's  brother,  Arch,  comes  to  see 
us  often,  and  takes  Emily's  children  in  hand  and  gives 
any  of  them  a  switching  that  need  it.  He  is  hired  to 
Dr.  Hardesty,  but  says  that  if  "  Marse  Fred  "  can 
afford  to  keep  him,  he  will  stay  with  him  when  he 
comes  back  to  Georgia.  This  state  of  things  is  about 
the  best  we  can  expect  under  the  new  regime,  but  there 
is  no  telling  how  long  the  Yankees  will  let  well  enough 
alone.  The  servants  who  are  still  with  us  are  lazy, 
but  not  insolent,  though  the  teachings  of  French  and 
Wild  will  no  doubt  soon  make  them  so.  Mammy  says 
that  Dr.  French  told  them  in  one  of  his  speeches  that 
some  of  them  would  be  called  upon  to  rule  over  the 
land  hereafter — a  pretty  strong  hint  at  negro  suffrage. 
Capt.  Cooley  is  reported  as  saying :  "  Damn  French ! 
I  had  trouble  enough  with  the  negroes  before  he  came, 
and  now  they  are  as  mad  as  he  is."  Bravo!  little 
Yank;  I  really  begin  to  respect  you. 

July  24,  Monday. — We  had  a  dancing  party  at  Dr. 
Robertson's  in  the  evening.  Most  of  the  young  men 
go  to  parties  fully  armed.  The  parlor  mantelpiece  at 
the  bank  was  covered  with  pistols  brought  there  by  our 
escorts,  and  one  of  our  amusements,  between  dances, 
was  to  examine  them  and  learn  to  cock  them.  Some 
of  them  were  very  pretty,  with  silver  and  ivory  mount- 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  349 

ings.  Garnett  made  us  go  and  return  by  back  streets 
in  order  to  avoid,  as  much  as  possible,  meeting  with 
negroes  and  Yankees.  A  man  of  honor  can  hardly  be 
expected  not  to  shoot  on  the  spot  any  wretch  who 
should  dare  to  insult  a  lady  under  his  charge,  and  the 
consequences  of  reckless  firing  have  been  made  so 
apparent  that  prudent  people  think  it  best  to  avoid 
difficulties  by  keeping  out  of  their  way  as  much  as  we 
can.  The  negroes  are  frequently  out  very  late  at 
night,  attending  the  meetings  of  a  society  they  have 
formed,  called  the  "  Sons  of  Benevolence,"  for  the 
protection  of  female  virtue  ( !)  and  Heaven — or 
rather  the  other  place — only  knows  what  else.  But 
every  housekeeper  knows  that  the  gardens  and  hen- 
roosts in  the  neighborhood  suffer  on  the  nights  when 
they  hold  their  meetings.  Only  two  of  their  acts  have 
become  known  to  me,  and  these  are  not  very  creditable 
to  the  morals  of  a  religious  society  conducted  by  re- 
ligious people.  They  arraigned  Mrs.  Gabe  Toombs's 
Chloe  for  "  keeping  company  with  a  Yankee,"  but 
when  she  declared  that  she  "  hadn't  never  kep'  com- 
pany with  nobody  but  Joe  Barnett  "  (who  has  another 
wife,  if  not  two  or  three  of  them)  they  let  her  off. 
They  also  reported  Mrs.  Margaret  Jones  to  the  com- 
mandant, as  suffering  a  sick  man  (in  her  employ)  to 
lie  dying  of  neglect,  and  subjected  her  to  the  annoyance 
of  a  visit  from  one  of  the  army  surgeons,  while  to 
my  certain  knowledge  she  has  had  a  physician  to  see 
him  every  day,  and  nurses  him  as  faithfully  as  if  he 


35o      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

were  her  own  servant.  Dr.  French  has  attended  some 
of  their  meetings,  and  if  any  mischief  is  afoot,  no 
doubt  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

July  25,  Tuesday. — The  Dunwodys  had  a  conversa- 
tion party  in  the  evening,  and  I  enjoyed  it  only  toler- 
ably. There  were  not  gentlemen  enough  to  go  round, 
and  that  is  always  awkward.  Capt.  Semmes  was  not 
there,  either,  but  Anderson  Reese,  who  is  almost  as 
nice,  supplied  his  place.  As  Jenny  wasn't  there,  he 
took  me  as  second  best,  and  we  spent  half  the  evening 
tete-a-tete.  He  is  delightful,  in  spite  of  being  in  love 
with  another  girl,  and  still  wears  a  gray  coat  with  brass 
buttons.  I  felt  as  if  carried  back  to  the  old  Confed- 
erate days  whenever  I  looked  at  him.  I  came  home  at 
1  o'clock,  dissatisfied  with  myself,  as  I  always  am  after 
a  conversazione,  because  I  say  so  many  foolish  things 
when  I  talk  too  much.  I  couldn't  sleep,  either,  after 
going  to  bed,  because  Mett  went  off  to  her  own  room 
next  to  father's  and  left  me  alone  in  the  end  room, 
with  that  awful  garret  door  between  me  and  every- 
body else  in  the  house.  I  am  like  the  little  boy  that 
said  he  wasn't  afraid  to  go  through  the  graveyard 
alone  at  night,  he  was  just  ashamed.  I  don't  believe 
in  ghosts,  but  they  make  me  just  as  nervous  as  if  I 
did — and  that  big  garret  is  such  a  horrible,  gloomy 
place. 

July  2j,  Thursday. — Seabrook  Hull  and  Brewer 
Pope  called  at  5  o'clock  this  afternoon,  which  put  me 
out  of  temper  because  I  am  never  up  so  early  this  hot 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  35* 

weather.     Took  tea  at  the  Lawtons,  where  we  had  a 
delightful  evening. 

I  am  always  so  frightened  and  uneasy  in  the  streets 
after  dark  that  it  greatly  detracts  from  the  pleasure 
of  going  out.  We  can  generally  avoid  the  Yankees 
by  taking  the  back  streets,  but  the  negroes  swarm  in 
every  by-way  and  rarely  condescend  to  give  up  the 
sidewalk,  so  we  have  to  submit  to  the  indignity  of  being 
crowded  off  by  them.  There  was  a  time  when  such 
conduct  would  have  been  rewarded  with  a  thrashing — 
or  rather,  when  such  conduct  was  unheard  of,  for  the 
negroes  generally  had  good  manners  till  the  Yankees 
corrupted  them  by  their  "  evil  communications."  It 
is  sad  to  think  how  things  are  changing.  In  another 
generation  or  two,  this  beautiful  country  of  ours  will 
have  lost  its  distinctive  civilization  and  become  no 
better  than  a  nation  of  Yankee  shopkeepers. 

July  28,  Friday. — One  continued  stream  of  notes 
and  messengers  and  visitors  all  day  long.  I  hardly 
had  time  to  eat  my  breakfast.  I  spent  most  of  the 
morning  nursing  John  Moore's  family,  who  are  all 
sick  with  the  measles. 

We  had  a  dance  at  Mrs.  Margaret  Jones's  in  the 
evening,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  enjoyed  anything 
more  in  my  life.  I  nearly  danced  my  feet  off,  in  spite 
of  the  hot  weather.  Between  dances,  I  enjoyed  a  long 
tete-a-tete  with  my  old  Montgomery  friend,  Dr.  Cal- 
houn, who  looks  so  much  like  Henry.  He  is  a  Cousin 
of  Corrie  and  Gene,  who  are  visiting  the  Robertsons. 


352      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

He  came  over  from  Carolina  yesterday,  and  called  to 
see  me  as  soon  as  he  got  here,  but  I  was  out.  It  was 
really  a  pleasure  to  see  him  again.      .     .     . 

Gen.  Wild  has  left  off  his  murder  cases  for  the 
present,  and  turned  his  attention  to  more  lucrative 
business — that  everlasting  bank  robbery.  Some  ten 
thousand  dollars  have  been  recovered  from  negroes  in 
whose  hands  it  was  found,  and  about  a  dozen  of  the 
most  respectable  citizens  of  the  county  are  imprisoned 
in  the  courthouse  under  accusation  of  being  impli- 
cated. Among  them  is  the  wife  of  our  old  camp-meet- 
ing friend,  Mr.  Nish  (Dionysius)  Chenault,  who  en- 
tertained Mrs.  Davis  and  her  party  at  his  house  out  on 
the  Danburg  road  as  she  was  on  her  way  here  from 
Abbeville.  She  (Mrs.  Chenault)  has  a  little  young 
baby  with  her,  and  they  have  imprisoned  Mr.  Che- 
nault's  sister,  too,  and  Sallie,  his  oldest  daughter.*  The 
people  of  Washington  wanted  to  entertain  the  ladies 
in  their  homes  and  give  bail  for  their  appearance  to 
stand  trial,  but  that  bloodhound,  Wild,  would  not  per- 
mit them  to  leave  the  courthouse.  He  tied  up  Mr. 
Chenault  by  the  thumbs  and  kept  him  hanging  for  an 
hour,  trying  to  extort  from  him  treasure  that  he  did 

*  The  accusation  against  them  was  that  they  had  shared  in  the 
plunder  of  a  box  of  jewels  that  the  women  of  the  South  had  con- 
tributed for  building  a  Confederate  gunboat,  and  their  own  per- 
sonal ornaments  were  "  confiscated  "  under  this  pretext.  The  box 
of  jewels  was  among  the  assets  of  the  Confederate  treasury  that 
had  been  plundered  near  the  village.  The  fate  of  these  ornaments, 
contributed  with  such  loyal  devotion,  will  probably  never  be  known. 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  353 

not  possess.  He  is  a  large,  fat  man,  weighing  nearly 
three  hundred  pounds,  so  the  torture  must  have  been 
excruciating.  His  son  and  brother  were  tied  up,  too, 
the  latter  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  he  was  suf- 
fered to  hang  till  they  were  stretched  above  his  head, 
and  he  fainted  from  the  pain.  And  all  this  on  the 
lying  accusation  of  a  negro !  They  even  hung  up  a 
negro  man,  Tom,  because  he  would  not  swear  to  a 
pack  of  lies  inculpating  his  master.  And  the  Yankees 
pretend  to  be  a  civilized  people!  And  these  precious 
missionaries  of  the  gospel  of  abolitionism  have  come 
out  from  philanthropic  Boston  to  enlighten  us  be- 
nighted Southerners  on  our  duty  to  the  negroes,  while 
they  take  a  sterling  old  Wilkes  county  planter  and 
treat  him  worse  than  we  would  do  a  runaway  negro! 
Such  diabolical  proceedings  have  not  been  heard  of 
since  the  days  of  King  James  and  his  thumbscrews. 

Father  has  suggested  that  I  might  make  some  money 
by  writing  an  account  of  this  robbery  business  for 
some  sensational  Northern  newspaper,  and  I  mean  to 
try  it.  I  don't  suppose  any  of  them  would  publish 
the  real  truth,  even  if  I  could  get  at  it,  which  seems 
almost  impossible,  but  I  will  do  my  best,  and  it  will  be 
worth  while,  if  I  can  only  get  a  chance  to  let  the 
Yankees  know  how  mean  they  are,  even  though  I  do 
have  to  soften  it  down.  Father  is  one  of  Mr.  Che- 
nault's  counsel,  and  can  tell  me  all  about  that  part  of 
the  business.  I  will  make  a  sensational  article,  with 
big  headlines,  and  if  the  thing  succeeds,  I  can  make  a 


354      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

good  many  other  salable  pieces  out  of  what  I  see  going 
on  around  me  every  day,  especially  about  the  "  freed- 
men  "  and  their  doings.  I  will  write  as  if  I  were  a 
Yankee  myself,  and  in  this  way  get  a  better  chance  to 
hit  the  wretches  a  few  good  hard  raps  over  the  head 
that  they  would  not  take  from  a  Southerner. 

July  29,  Saturday. — I  invited  Emma  Reed  and  Miss 
Ann  Simpson  to  tea,  and  a  terrible  thunder  storm 
came  up  that  kept  them  here  all  night.  Marsh  went  to 
a  children'^  party  in  the  afternoon,  and  came  home 
sick.  Garnett  spent  the  day  at  a  barbecue,  with  the 
usual  result,  so  between  them  and  the  thunder,  which 
always  frightens  me  out  of  my  wits,  I  was  not  in  a 
very  lively  mood.  I  spent  the  morning  making  tomato 
catsup.  My  eyes  are  getting  so  bad  that  I  can  hardly 
write  half  a  page  without  stopping  to  rest  them.  Well 
might  St.  Paul  pray  to  be  delivered  from  this  "  Thorn 
in  the  flesh." 

July  30,  Sunday. — The  latest  sensation  is  the  con- 
fiscation of  the  Toombs  residence.  Gen.  Wild  went 
up  there  to-day  and  turned  Mrs.  Toombs  out  in  the 
most  brutal  manner.  He  only  allowed  her  to  take  her 
clothing  and  a  few  other  personal  effects,  peering  into 
the  trunks  after  they  had  been  packed,  and  even  un- 
rolling Mrs.  Toombs's  nightgowns  to  see  if  anything 
"  contraband  "  was  concealed  in  them.  A  little  pin- 
cushion from  her  workstand  which  she  had  given  to 
Cora  as  a  keepsake,  he  jerked  out  of  Ed  Morgan's 
hand  and  cut  open  with  his  penknife  to  see  if  jewels 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  355 

were  not  concealed  in  it.  He  searched  the  baggage  of 
Bishop  Pierce,  who  was  at  that  moment  in  the  Metho- 
dist church,  preaching  one  of  the  best  sermons  I  ever 
listened  to,  and  made  all  kinds  of  sarcastic  remarks 
about  what  he  found  there.  He  suffered  Ed  Morgan's 
trunk  and  a  basket  of  fine  peaches  that  Mrs.  Toombs 
had  gathered  for  Cora,  to  come  to  our  house  unmo- 
lested, as  a  special  favor  to  Judge  Andrews.  I  don't 
know  what  the  old  brute  would  think  of  Judge  An- 
drews if  he  knew  that  in  his  house  were  stored  at  this 
moment  Mrs.  Toombs's  family  portraits  and  a  good 
part  of  her  silver  plate.  He  has  so  little  magnanimity 
himself  that  he  will  never  suspect  such  a  thing  as  the 
existence  of  personal  esteem  between  political  oppo- 
nents, as  father  and  Gen.  Toombs  have  nearly  always 
been.  Cora,  who  was  at  Mrs.  Toombs's  with  a  num- 
ber of  other  friends  while  all  this  was  going  on,  says 
that  his  manner  was  as  hard  and  unfeeling  as  a  rock; 
his  negro  sergeant  actually  seemed  ashamed  of  him. 
Neither  tears,  hatred,  nor  contempt  could  move  him; 
he  actually  seemed  to  glory  in  his  odious  work.  He 
is  a  little  mean-souled  edition  of  that  champion  perse- 
cutor, the  Duke  of  Alva,  and  so  we  call  him,  for  he 
would  make  an  auto  da  fe  of  the  last  one  of  us  poor 
rebels  if  he  could.  It  is  necessary  to  have  some  nick- 
name to  use  when  we  talk  before  the  servants,  and  to 
speak  very  carefully,  even  then,  for  every  black  man 
is  a  possible  spy.  Father  says  we  must  not  even  trust 
mammy  too  far.     Never  were  people  subjected  to  a 


356      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

more  thorough  and  complete  system  of  espionage,  and 
by  such  irresponsible  agents.  The  least  bit  of  careless 
speaking  is  liable  to  get  one  into  trouble.  John  Ficklen 
was  arrested  and  fined  merely  for  saying  that  he 
wished  the  bullet  that  hit  Wild's  arm  had  taken  off  his 
confounded  head.  Father  says  he  is  rather  a  hand- 
some man,  but  I  would  sooner  face  the  devil  in  his 
worst  shape.  He  is  one  of  those  close,  secret,  cold- 
blooded villains  who  keeps  his  own  counsel,  just  like 
Alva  of  old,  when  he  had  a  new  piece  of  cruelty  to 
perpetrate  against  the  poor  Hollanders.  Father  thinks 
he  has  something  behind,  of  a  still  more  astounding 
nature  than  anything  he  has  yet  done,  and  tried  to 
sound  him,  but  it  was  "  no  go."  Old  French,  like  the 
vain  fool  of  a  fanatic  that  he  is,  blabs  everything  he 
knows;  father  says  he  saw  to  the  bottom  of  him  in 
two  hours.  We  have  not  quarreled  much  about  poli- 
tics in  the  last  few  days,  for  when  it  comes  to  a  situa- 
tion like  this,  father  is  too  true  at  the  core  not  to  take 
part  with  his  own  people.  He  may  love  the  Union 
as  much  as  he  will,  but  he  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
to  have  any  part  or  parcel  in  the  transactions  of  men 
like  these.  Such  Pharisaical  hypocrites  as  Wild  and 
French  make  Capt.  Cooley  seem  almost  an  angel  of 
light.  We  are  actually  beginning  to  regard  this  Yan- 
kee officer  as  a  friend  and  protector.  He  undoubtedly 
has  behaved  like  a  gentleman  in  every  respect.  While 
Gen.  Wild  and  Dr.  French  make  a  business  of  dining 
two  or  three  times  a  week  with  a  party  of  negroes  at 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  357 

old  Uncle  Spenser's,  Capt.  Cooley  never  associates 
with  either  of  them  any  more  than  he  can  help,  and 
does  his  best  to  make  the  negroes  behave  themselves. 
He  says  that  the  two  newcomers  have  given  him  more 
trouble  than  all  the  rebels  he  ever  had  to  deal  with,  and 
has  been  heard  to  "  damn  "  them  soundly.  Garnett 
says  he  is  a  real  good  fellow,  and  my  heart  has  softened 
so  that  I  am  not  ashamed  to  think  well  even  of  a  Yan- 
kee, like  him.  The  young  men  of  the  town  invited 
him  to  their  barbecue  yesterday,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Since  the  Toombses  have  been  turned  out  of  their 
house,  Ed.  Morgan  has  come  to  stay  with  us.  Mrs. 
DuBose  is  very  near  her  confinement,  but  fortunately 
she  has  friends  enough  with  whom  she  can  find  shelter, 
and  Gen.  DuBose  is  on  his  way  home.  His  body- 
servant,  who  was  severely  wounded  in  one  of  our  last 
battles  while  trying  to  carry  his  master  some  breakfast, 
is  at  the  confiscated  house,  very  ill,  and  the  family  are 
reduced  to  such  straits  that  they  can  make  no  provision 
for  him.  This  seems  to  distress  Mrs.  Toombs  more 
than  her  own  situation.  Dr.  Lane  promised  her  to 
render  the  negro  medical  service,  and  if  Gen.  Wild  was 
really  as  fond  of  the  negroes  as  he  pretends  to  be,  he 
would  provide  the  poor  fellow  with  everything  else 
he  needs — but  he  leaves  that  to  their  rebel  masters — 
those  cruel  slaveholders  whose  chief  delight  was  to 
torture  and  murder  their  negroes. 

July  31,  Monday. — The  best  thing  that  has  ever  hap- 
pened since  the  world  began!     Old  Wild   arrested! 


358      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

He  had  just  established  himself  comfortably  in  Mrs. 
Toombs's  house,  where  he  announced  his  intention  of 
opening  a  negro  school  in  the  basement,  reserving  the 
first  floor  for  himself  and  his  gang.  One  of  the 
teachers  had  come,  and  Dr.  French  was  in  high  feather. 
The  general  himself  was  reveling  in  power  and  wick- 
edness. He  had  removed  his  female  prisoners  from 
the  courthouse  to  an  upper  room  on  the  square,  where 
they  were  confined  on  a  diet  of  army  rations.  Two 
men  were  arrested  for  looking  at  them  as  they  stood  at 
a  window,  under  suspicion  of  making  signals,  and 
Dick  Walton  was  also  arrested  as  "  guilty  of  being  sus- 
pected." A  Reign  of  Terror  was  upon  us,  and  things 
were  looking  very  squally  indeed,  with  this  agent  of 
a  tribunal  as  tyrannical  as  Robespierre's  Jacobins,  rid- 
ing over  us  rough-shod.  Men  dared  not  speak  with- 
out looking  over  their  shoulder  to  see  if  a  spy  was  in 
hearing.  Wild,  cold  and  hard  as  adamant,  seemed 
fairly  to  glory  in  making  himself  hated — but  thank 
Heaven,  his  day  is  over.  In  the  midst  of  these  arbi- 
trary proceedings,  just  as  Dr.  Walton  had  been  placed 
under  arrest,  the  afternoon  train  came  in  with  a  fresh 
squad  of  Yankee  soldiers,  under  the  command  of 
splendidly  caparisoned  officers.  Our  hearts  failed  at 
the  sight,  for  thus  far,  in  all  our  experience,  a  fresh 
arrival  of  Yankees  has  meant  a  fresh  train  of  woes. 
Capt.  Semmes  was  spending  his  last  evening  with  us, 
before  leaving  Georgia,  and  the  whole  family  as- 
sembled on  the  piazza,  as  the  cavalcade  passed  our 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  359 

street  gate,  speculating  as  to  what  new  calamity  was 
about  to  befall  us.  But  when  father  came  in  a  little 
later  and  told  us  the  real  object  of  their  visit,  we 
clapped  our  hands  and  shouted  for  joy.  Cora  danced 
a  pirouette,  Marsh  turned  a  series  of  somersaults  the 
whole  length  of  the  piazza,  and  father  himself  laughed 
with  a  right  good  will.  Henry  came  home  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  and  told  us  that  when  he  first  heard  the 
news  down  town,  he  went  into  the  back  room  of  Bur- 
well  Ficklen's  office,  shut  the  windows,  locked  the  door, 
and  threw  his  hat  up  to  the  ceiling  three  times.  When 
our  first  burst  of  joy  had  subsided,  we,  too,  began  to 
look  round  to  see  if  the  negroes  were  all  out  of  the  way, 
and  then  proceeded  to  vent  our  feelings.  The  down- 
fall of  these  precious  apostles  of  Abolitionism  will  have 
a  good  effect  upon  the  negroes,  whom  they  have  all  but 
excited  to  insurrection.  Dr.  French  has  been  cheating 
and  imposing  upon  them  all  the  time,  but  the  poor, 
ignorant  creatures  can  see  nothing  wrong  in  him  whom 
they  call  their  "  white  Jesus," — little  knowing  what 
horrid  blasphemy  they  are  uttering.  It  has  become  a 
fashion  among  them  to  be  married  by  him,  though  he 
takes  the  last  cent  they  have,  as  a  fee.  I  thought  some- 
thing of  that  kind  must  be  at  the  bottom  of  his  anxiety 
to  "  settle  the  marriage  relations  "  of  the  negroes. 
One  woman  left  her  husband  and  married  another 
man,  like  Charity  did  Peter.  Husband  No.  I  went  to 
Dr.  French  while  he  was  performing  the  ceremony, 
and  objected  to  the  proceeding,  but  No.  2  had  the 


360      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

woman  and  the  fee  on  his  side,  so  he  carried  the  day. 
I  believe  this  whang-nosed  fanatic  is  a  more  despicable 
creature  than  even  Gen.  Wild;  he  is  one  of  the  sleek, 
unctuous  kind  that  tries  to  cover  his  rascality  under  the 
cloak  of  religion,  but  his — (word  illegible)  comes  out 
too  strong  for  that  much  patched  garment  to  hide. 

Father  fears  that  our  rejoicing  over  the  downfall 
of  Wild  is  vain.  He  says  that  such  a  wily  rascal 
would  hardly  commit  himself  as  he  has  done,  without 
good  authority.  He  may  have  orders  from  a  higher 
power  than  Gen.  Steadman,  of  which  that  officer  is 
ignorant,  and  if  this  be  the  case,  he  may  not  remain 
long  under  arrest.  Those  people  at  Washington  are 
capable  of  anything,  and  if  he  should  be  turned  loose 
upon  us  again,  his  desire  for  vengeance  will  make  him 
worse  than  ever,  and  then,  woe  to  the  Toombses  and 
Chenaults,  whose  complaints  to  Gen.  Steadman  caused 
his  arrest. 

While  we  were  at  supper  there  was  heard  a  noise 
precisely  like  the  firing  of  a  cannon,  but  a  rumbling 
sound  that  followed  immediately  after,  convinced  us 
it  was  only  a  peal  of  thunder.  After  we  got  up  from 
the  table,  Henry  took  me  aside  and  told  me  that  it 
really  was  the  old  cannon,  which  some  young  hare- 
brains  among  the  boys  had  determined  to  fire  off  for 
joy  at  "  Alva's  "  arrest.  The  rumbling  of  thunder 
which  accompanied  it  seems  almost  like  an  interposi- 
tion of  Providence  to  save  our  young  rebels  from  the 
possible  consequences  of  their  imprudence.     Anyway, 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  361 

the  old  blunderbuss  never  opened  its  mouth  in  a  better 
cause. 

After  supper,  Capt.  Semmes,  the  last  of  our  war 
friends,  took  his  leave.  He  sets  out  for  New  Orleans . 
on  Wednesday,  but  will  return  in  a  month  or  two  for 
his  family.  "  I  expect  Gen.  Wild  will  have  you  up  by 
the  thumbs  next,"  he  said  to  me  laughing,  as  he  moved 
away.  "  You  and  Miss  Metta  and  Mary  would  make 
a  pretty  trio,  with  your  three  red  heads." 

"  I  hope,"  I  answered,  "  that  my  new  shoes  will 
come  before  I  am  strung  up,  for  I  believe  the  operation 
is  very  exposing  to  the  feet." 

It  seems  unfeeling  to  jest  about  such  things,  and  yet, 
we  all  do  it.  I  suppose  the  very  desperateness  of  our 
situation  makes  us  reckless.  Even  father's  face  was 
one  broad  sunbeam  when  he  told  us  of  "  Alva's  "  ar- 
rest, and  he  never  shuts  us  up  for  abusing  him — only 
looks  round  to  see  if  the  doors  are  closed  and  none  of 
the  servants  within  hearing.  For  all  he  is  such  a 
strong  Union  man,  I  am  sure  that  he  detests  the  brute. 
It  does  my  heart  good  to  hear  him  tell  how  he  took 
advantage  of  the  only  legal  mistake  the  old  sleuth 
hound  made  in  that  murder  case,  and  thus  will  prob- 
ably save  the  neck  of  his  client.  I  am  like  everybody 
else;  I  want  these  men  to  be  punished  if  they  are  guilty, 
but  not  by  an  illegal,  secret  military  tribunal,  nor  con- 
victed on  negro  evidence.  Capt.  Cooley  says  they  give 
more  weight  to  negro  evidence  than  to  that  of  white 
people. 

24 


362      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Aug.  i,  Tuesday. — Gen.  Wild's  negro  bodyguard 
left  this  morning,  and  it  is  said  we  are  to  be  rid  of  the 
tyrant  himself  to-morrow.  Col.  Drayton  is  reported 
as  saying  that  he  would  not  like  to  be  in  Wild's  place 
when  he  gets  back  to  Augusta,  and  bitterly  censures  his 
conduct.  There  seems  to  be  some  sense  of  decency 
left  among  the  Yankee  army  officers,  even  yet.  This 
Col.  Drayton  is  evidently  a  gentleman.  Bless  his 
heart,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  really  like  to  shake  hands 
with  him.  Our  town  is  full  of  Yanks,  and  new  ones 
coming  in  every  day.  The  last  to  arrive  is  a  staff 
officer  *  from  the  War  Department.  Something  of 
importance  must  be  on  foot,  but  of  course  we,  who  are 
most  nearly  concerned,  know  not  what.  We  see  the 
splendidly-equipped  officers  dashing  about  the  streets, 
and  think  bitterly  of  the  days  when  our  own  ragged 
rebels  were  there  instead,  but  we  never  have  time  to 
think  long  before  the  storm  bursts  over  our  heads, 
somebody  is  plunged  into  the  abyss,  and  present  misery 
leaves  no  time  for  vain  regrets. 

I  sincerely  pray  that  no  more  negro  troops  may  be 
sent  here.  Those  of  Wild  were  exceedingly  insolent, 
and  came  near  raising  a  riot  at  the  depot  just  before 
they  boarded  the  cars.  They  cursed  the  white  citizens 
who  happened  to  be  there,  threatened  to  shoot  them, 
and  were  with  difficulty  restrained  by  the  Yankee  offi- 
cers themselves  from  making  good  their  threat.     Our 

*  There  is  obviously  some  error  here  as  to  the  official  title  of  the 
person  referred 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  363 

white  men  were  compelled  to  submit  to  this  insolence, 
while  hundreds  of  idle  negroes  stood  around,  laughing 
and  applauding  it.  Father  came  home  in  a  state  of 
indignation  to  which  I  have  rarely  seen  him  wrought 
up.  He  says  it  was  the  most  alarming  and  exasperat- 
ing scene  he  has  yet  witnessed.  Contrary  to  every- 
body's expectation,  the  negro  troops  are  less  disposed 
to  submit  to  discipline  than  the  white  ones.  One 
would  think  that  after  the  plantation  discipline  to 
which  they  have  been  accustomed,  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  with  them  in  the  army,  but  the  Yankee  officers 
say  they  are  the  most  turbulent  and  insubordinate 
troops  in  the  service.  With  Southern  men  to  com- 
mand them  they  would  soon  be  made  to  know  their 
place,  but  the  Yankees  have  spoiled  them  by  making  a 
hobby  of  them.  They  never  did  know  how  to  treat 
negroes,  anyway,  and  if  they  don't  mind,  they  will 
raise  a  spirit  which  it  will  be  out  of  their  power  to  lay. 
The  negro  troops  are  said  to  be  better  fed,  better 
clothed,  and  better  paid,  than  any  others  in  the  army, 
and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  jealousy  already  between 
them  and  their  white  comrades.  Serves  them  right. 
I  wish  every  wretch  of  them  had  a  strapping,  loud- 
smelling  African  tied  to  him  like  a  Siamese  twin,  and 
that  Wild  had  one  on  both  sides.  Oh,  how  I  hate 
them !  I  will  have  to  say  "  Damn !  "  yet,  before  I  am 
done  with  them. 

Aug.  2,  Wednesday. — Wild  and  French  have  gone 
their  way;  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  our  town  is  over 


364      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

for  the  present.  If  the  Yankees  cashier  Wild,  it  will 
give  me  more  respect  for  them  than  I  ever  thought  it 
possible  to  feel.  He  is  the  most  atrocious  villain  ex- 
tant. Before  bringing  the  Chenaults  to  town,  he 
went  into  the  country  to  their  home,  and  tortured  all 
the  men  till  Mr.  Nish  Chenault  fainted  three  times 
under  the  operation.  Then  he  shut  up  the  two  ladies, 
Mrs.  Chenault  and  Sallie,  in  a  room,  to  be  searched  by 
a  negro  woman,  with  a  Yankee  officer  standing  outside 
the  door  to  make  sure  that  it  was  thoroughly  done. 
When  the  ladies  had  stripped  to  their  last  garment, 
they  stopped  and  objected  to  undressing  any  further, 
but  were  compelled  to  drop  it  to  the  waist.  .  .  . 
Disappointed  at  not  finding  any  other  plunder,  the 
Yankees  took  their  watches  and  family  jewelry,  and 
$150  in  gold  that  Mr.  Chenault  had  saved  through  the 
war.  I  have  this  from  Mrs.  Reese,  who  got  it  from 
Sallie  Chenault  herself,  after  they  were  released. 
After  searching  the  ladies,  they  kept  them  in  the  woods 
all  day,  while  they  searched  and  plundered  the  house. 
Miss  Chenault  says  she  doesn't  suppose  there  was 
much  left  in  the  house  worth  having,  when  the  Yan- 
kees and  negroes  had  gone  through  it.  I  believe  all 
the  ladies  have  now  been  released  by  Col.  Drayton, 
except  Mrs.  Nish  Chenault,  who  is  detained  on  a 
charge  of  assault  and  battery  for  slapping  one  of  her 
own  negro  women  who  was  insolent  to  her !  How  are 
the  tables  turned !  This  robbery  business  furnishes  a 
good  exposition  of  Yankee  character.     Each  one  that 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  365 

meddles  with  it  goes  off  with  some  of  the  gold  sticking 
to  his  fingers,  and  then  gets  into  trouble  with  the 
others,  who  are  afraid  there  will  be  none  of  it  left  for 
them.  Let  a  Yankee  alone  for  scenting  out  plunder. 
Aug.  4,  Friday. — Capt.  Cooley  went  out  of  town  on 
some  business  or  other,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  negroes 
and  common  soldiers  would  drive  the  rest  of  us  out 
after  him.  I  went  to  walk  with  Mary  Semmes  in  the 
afternoon,  and  every  lady  we  met  on  the  street  had 
had  some  unpleasant  adventure.  A  negro  called  to 
Cora,  in  the  most  insulting  manner,  from  an  upper 
window  on  the  square,  and  two  drunken  Yankees  ran 
across  the  street  at  Mary  and  me  and  almost  knocked 
us  down,  whooping  and  yelling  with  all  their  might. 
We  were  glad  to  hurry  back  home,  as  fast  as  our  feet 
would  carry  us.  Things  are  coming  to  such  a  pass 
that  it  is  unsafe  for  ladies  to  walk  on  the  street.  The 
town  is  becoming  more  crowded  with  "  freedmen  " 
every  day,  and  their  insolence  increases  with  their 
numbers.  Every  available  house  is  running  over  with 
them,  and  there  are  some  quarters  of  the  village  where 
white  people  can  hardly  pass  without  being  insulted. 
The  negroes  are  nearly  all  idle,  and  most  of  them  live 
by  stealing.  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  them 
in  winter,  when  fruits  and  vegetables  are  gone.  Some- 
times my  sympathies  are  very  much  excited  by  the  poor 
creatures,  notwithstanding  their  outrageous  conduct — 
for  which  the  Yankees  are  more  to  blame,  after  all, 
than  they.    The  other  day  I  met  a  half -grown  boy  with 


366      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

all  his  worldly  goods  in  a  little  wallet  slung  over  his 
shoulder.  He  was  a  poor,  ignorant,  country  darkey, 
and  seemed  utterly  lost  in  the  big  world  of  little  Wash- 
ington. He  stopped  at  our  street  gate  as  I  passed  out, 
and  asked  in  a  timid  voice,  almost  breaking  into  sobs : 
"  Does  you  know  anybody  what  wants  to  hire  a  boy, 
mistis?  "  I  was  so  sorry  for  him  that  I  felt  like  cry- 
ing myself,  but  I  could  do  nothing.  The  Yankees 
have  taken  all  that  out  of  our  hands,  and  deprived  us 
of  the  means  of  caring  for  even  our  own  negroes. 
There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  harden  our  hearts  against 
sufferings  we  never  caused  and  have  no  power  to  pre- 
vent. Our  enemies  have  done  it  all;  let  them  glory 
in  their  work. 

Aug.  5,  Saturday. — It  rained  like  fury  all  the  after- 
noon, and  I  finished  my  account  of  the  bank  robbery 
which  I  intend  trying  to  sell  to  one  of  the  New  York 
papers.  I  did  my  best  to  get  at  the  exact  truth,  and 
father  did  all  he  could  to  help  me,  so  I  think  it  is,  in 
the  main,  about  as  clear  a  statement  of  the  facts  as  can 
be  got  at.  Gardiner  Foster  came  over  from  Elberton 
and  spent  the  evening  with  us.  Somebody  is  always 
sure  to  come  when  I  neglect  to  change  my  dress  in 
the  evening. 

Mary  Semmes  and  I  took  a  long  walk  together  be- 
fore breakfast,  and  met  neither  Yankees  nor  negroes. 
The  "  freedmen  "  are  living  up  to  their  privileges  now, 
and  leave  the  early  morning  hours  to  us  "  white  trash." 
Willie  Robertson  told  me  about  an  adventure  of  his 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  367 

that  might  have  strayed  out  of  a  "  New  York  Ledger  " 
story.  Returning  home  late  the  other  night,  from  an 
evening  call,  he  found  a  note  under  the  front  door, 
addressed  to  himself,  in  blood.  Opening  it,  he  found 
inside  only  a  drop  of  blood!  His  sisters  are  fright- 
ened out  of  their  wits  about  it,  but  Willie  thinks  that 
it  is  only  a  trick  of  some  darkey  he  has  offended,  try- 
ing to  "  cunjur  "  him.  Negroes  are  given  to  such 
modes  of  vengeance,  and  one  could  easily  have  gotten 
some  Yankee,  or  other  low  person,  to  write  the  address 
for  him.  Willie  says  it  is  in  the  cramped  hand  of  an 
illiterate  person,  such  as  people  of  this  sort  might  be 
expected  to  write. 

Aug.  7,  Monday. — Dr.  Hardesty  left  for  Baltimore 
and  we  sent  off  a  big  mail  to  be  posted  by  him  there — 
letters  to  the  Elzeys  and  other  friends. 

Garnett  brought  Taz  Anderson  and  Dr.  McMillan 
home  to  dinner.  It  seemed  just  like  the  quiet  ante- 
bellum days,  before  Washington  had  become  such  a 
thoroughfare,  and  our  house  a  sort  of  headquarters 
for  the  officers  of  two  Confederate  armies.  It  was 
almost  as  if  the  last  four  years  had  been  blotted  out, 
and  all  of  us  transported  back  for  a  day,  to  the  time 
when  Garnett  was  a  rising  young  lawyer  just  beginning 
his  career,  and  used  to  fill  the  house  with  his  clients 
and  friends.  A  sense  of  grinding  oppression,  a  deep 
humiliation,  bitter  disappointment  for  the  past,  and 
hopelessness  for  the  future,  and  the  absence  of  many 
well  known  faces  that  used  to  meet  us,  is  all  that 


368      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

marks  the  change  betwixt  the  now  and  the  then,  so 
far  as  our  social  life  is  concerned.  The  pleasant 
strangers  the  war  brought  here  have  nearly  all  gone 
their  ways,  and  Washington  is  becoming  nothing  but 
a  small,  dull  country  village  again.  Everything  re- 
lating to  the  dear  old  Confederate  times  is  already  so 
completely  dead  and  buried  that  they  seem  to  have 
existed  only  in  imagination.  I  feel  like  one  awaking 
from  some  bright  dream,  to  face  the  bitter  realities  of 
a  hard,  sordid  world.  The  frightful  results  of  its 
downfall  are  all  that  remain  to  tell  us  that  there  ever 
was  a  Southern  Confederacy.  Oh,  for  the  glorious 
old  days  back  again,  with  all  their  hardships  and  hero- 
ism, with  all  their  "  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious 
war!  " — for  war,  with  all  its  cruelty  and  destruction, 
is  better  than  such  a  degrading  peace  as  this. 

Aug.  9,  Wednesday. — I  took  a  horseback  ride  before 
breakfast,  and  learned  the  "  catch  trot,"  which  is  a 
great  help  in  riding  a  rough-going  horse.  We  had  a 
dance  in  the  evening,  which  I  did  not  enjoy  much. 
.  .  .  I  have  sent  my  account  of  the  bank  robbery 
to  try  its  fate  with  the  "  New  York  World."  In  a 
private  letter  to  the  editor,  I  explained  that  I  wrote  as 
if  I  were  a  Yankee  sojourning  at  the  South,  in  order 
to  make  some  of  the  hard  things  it  was  necessary  to 
say  in  telling  the  truth,  as  little  unpalatable  as  possible 
to  a  Northern  public.  What  a  humiliation!  But  it 
gave  me  the  satisfaction  of  hitting  a  few  hard  knocks 
that  I  could  not  have  ventured  in  any  other  way.     I 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3^9 

could  say :  "  We  have  been  guilty  of  "  so  and  so,  where 
it  would  not  do  to  say:  "  You  have  been  guilty."  * 

Aug.  ii,  Friday. — A  charming  dance  at  Mrs.  Ben 
Bowdre's.  Jim  Bryan  and  Mr.  Berry  went  with  Mett 
and  me.  Garnett  took  Mary.  She  had  her  head 
dressed  with  a  huge  pile  of  evergreens  that  made  her 
look  like  Birnam  Wood  coming  to  Dunsinane.  She 
never  did  have  any  taste  in  arranging  her  hair. 

Aug.  1 8,  Friday. — Just  returned  from  a  visit  to 
Woodstock,  where  I  had  a  perfectly  charming  time. 
Ella  Daniel  wrote  for  Minnie  Evans  to  bring  out  a 
party  of  us  to  spend  a  few  days  at  her  house,  and  for- 
tunately left  the  selection  of  the  guests  to  Minnie.  Nine 
of  us  went  out  Thursday  morning  and  came  back  this 
afternoon.  We  left  Washington  immediately  after 
breakfast,  and  reached  Woodstock  just  in  time  for 
dinner,  after  a  jolly  ride  of  eighteen  miles,  with  plenty 
of  good  fruit  and  melons  to  eat  on  the  way.  Ella  and 
her  brother,  Cicero,  were  our  entertainers.  They  have 
a  large,  elegant  house,  with  two  beautiful  front  parlors 
and  a  wide  hall  that  can  be  thrown  together  by  means 
of  sliding  doors — a  glorious  place  for  dancing. 
Mamma  and  Papa  Daniel  have  both  departed  this  life, 
there  were  no  maiden  aunts  or  married  sisters  to  inter- 
fere, and  we  young  people  had  everything  our  own 
way.     It  rained  all  the  first  afternoon,  so  there  could 


*  The  article  here  alluded  to  was  published  a  few  weeks  later 
in  the  New  York  "World,"  under  the  heading:  "  A  Romance  of 
Robbery." 


37o     THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

be  no  riding,  but  we  had  no  reason  to  regret  that,  with 
those  nice  rooms  for  dancing.  We  danced  half  the 
night  and  then  went  to  our  rooms  and  talked  away  the 
rest  of  it.  We  danced  again  before  breakfast,  played 
cards,  ate  fruit,  and  idled  about  the  house  till  dinner- 
time, after  which  we  started  back  home,  though  Ella 
and  her  brother  did  their  best  to  keep  us  another  day, 
but  we  thought  it  would  be  an  imposition,  as  there 
were  so  many  of  us,  though  their  hospitality  was  equal 
to  anything,  and  they  entertained  us  delightfully.  The 
dinners,  especially,  were  charming — none  of  the  awk- 
wardness and  constraint  one  so  often  finds  where  peo- 
ple have  come  together  to  make  a  business  of  enjoy- 
ing themselves.  Ed  Morgan  and  his  cousin,  Tom 
Daniel,  joined  us  at  Woodstock  and  helped  on  the  fun. 
The  Daniels  are  as  thick  as  peas  there, — and  as  nice. 
But  pleasant  as  it  all  was,  the  best  part  of  our  trip  was 
the  journey  home.  Willie  Robertson  put  Buck,  our 
driver,  on  his  horse,  and  he  and  I  mounted  the  box 
and  drove  home  that  way.  It  was  a  delightfully  cool 
seat — so  high  and  airy;  I  felt  as  if  I  were  flying — and 
Willie  did  make  the  horses  fly.  We  laughed  and  sang 
rebel  songs,  and  the  whole  party  were  as  jolly  and  as 
noisy  as  if  we  had  been  half -tight.  We  stopped  at 
several  country  houses  on  the  road  to  get  water,  or 
peaches  and  melons,  and  sometimes  to  have  a  chat  with 
the  people. 

On  reaching  home,  I  found  that  sister  had  arrived, 
with  the  children.     There  was  a  big  mail,  too,  with 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  3?i 

letters  from  our  friends  in  Richmond  and  Baltimore, 
and  a  quantity  of  Northern  papers  they  sent  us.  I 
hate  the  Yankees  more  and  more,  every  time  I  look  at 
one  of  their  horrid  newspapers  and  read  the  lies  they 
tell  about  us,  while  we  have  our  mouths  closed  and 
padlocked.  The  world  will  not  hear  our  story,  and 
we  must  figure  just  as  our  enemies  choose  to  paint  us. 
The  pictures  in  "  Harper's  Weekly "  and  "  Frank 
Leslie's  "  tell  more  lies  than  Satan  himself  was  ever 
the  father  of.  I  get  in  such  a  rage  when  I  look  at  them 
that  I  sometimes  take  off  my  slipper  and  beat  the  sense- 
less paper  with  it.  No  words  can  express  the  wrath 
of  a  Southerner  on  beholding  pictures  of  President 
Davis  in  woman's  dress;  and  Lee,  that  star  of  light 
before  which  even  Washington's  glory  pales,  crouch- 
ing on  his  knees  before  a  beetle-browed  image  of  "  Co- 
lumbia," suing  for  pardon !  And  these  in  the  same 
sheet  with  disgusting  representations  of  the  execution 
of  the  so-called  "  conspirators  "  in  Lincoln's  assassina- 
tion. Nothing  is  sacred  from  their  disgusting  love  of 
the  sensational.  Even  poor  Harold's  sisters,  in  their 
last  interview  with  him,  are  pictured  for  the  public 
delectation,  in  "  Frank  Leslie's."  Andersonville,  one 
would  think,  was  bad  enough  as  it  was,  to  satisfy  them, 
but  no;  they  must  lie  even  about  that,  and  make  it  out 
ten  times  worse  than  the  reality — never  realizing  that 
they  themselves  are  the  only  ones  to  blame  for  the 
horrors  of  that  "  prison  pen,"  as  they  call  it.  They 
were  the  ones  that  refused  to  exchange  prisoners.    Our 


372      THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

government  could  not  defend  its  own  cities  nor  feed 
its  own  soldiers;  how  could  it  help  crowding  its  pris- 
oners and  giving  them  hard  fare?  I  have  seen  both 
Northern  and  Southern  prisoners,  and  the  traces  of 
more  bitter  suffering  were  shown  in  the  pinched 
features  and  half-naked  bodies  of  the  latter  than  ap- 
peared to  me  even  in  the  faces  of  the  Andersonville 
prisoners  I  used  to  pass  last  winter,  on  the  cars.  The 
world  is  filled  with  tales  of  the  horrors  of  Anderson- 
ville, but  never  a  word  does  it  hear  about  Elmira  and 
Fort  Delaware.  The  "  Augusta  Transcript "  was 
suppressed,  and  its  editor  imprisoned  merely  for  pub- 
lishing the  obituary  of  a  Southern  soldier,  in  which  it 
was  stated  that  he  died  of  disease  "  contracted  in  the 
icy  prisons  of  the  North."  Splendid  monuments  are 
being  reared  to  the  Yankee  dead,  and  the  whole  world 
resounds  with  pseans  because  they  overwhelmed  us 
with  their  big,  plundering  armies,  while  our  Southern 
dead  lie  unheeded  on  the  fields  where  they  fought  so 
bravely,  and  our  real  heroes,  our  noblest  and  best,  the 
glory  of  human  nature,  the  grandest  of  God's  works, 
are  defamed,  vilified,  spit  upon.  Oh!  you  brave  un- 
fortunates! history  will  yet  do  you  justice.  Your 
monuments  are  raised  in  the  hearts  of  a  people  whose 
love  is  stronger  than  fate,  and  they  will  see  that  your 
memory  does  not  perish.  Let  the  enemy  triumph; 
they  will  only  disgrace  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  all 
decent  people.  They  are  so  blind  that  they  boast  of 
their  own  shame.     They  make  pictures  of  the  ruin  of 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  373 

our  cities  and  exult  in  their  work.  They  picture  the 
destitution  of  Southern  homes  and  gloat  over  the  deso- 
lation they  have  made.  "  Harper's  "  goes  so  far  as  to 
publish  a  picture  of  Kilpatrick's  "  foragers  "  in  South- 
West  Georgia,  displaying  the  plate  and  jewels  they 
have  stolen  from  our  homes !  "  Out  of  their  own 
mouths  they  are  condemned,"  and  they  are  so  base 
they  do  not  even  know  that  they  are  publishing  their 
own  shame. 

Aug.  22,  Tuesday. — Charity  and  Mammy  both  sick, 
and  Emily  preparing  to  leave.  I  don't  think  the  poor 
darkey  wants  to  go,  but  mother  never  liked  to  have 
her  about  the  house,  and  father  can't  afford  to  keep 
such  a  big  family  on  his  hands  when  he  has  no  use  for 
them,  though  he  says  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to 
keep  them  from  suffering.  Our  circumstances  are  so 
reduced  that  it  is  necessary  to  reduce  our  establish- 
ment and  retrench  our  expensive  manner  of  living. 
We  have  not  even  an  errand  boy  now,  for  George,  the 
only  child  left  on  the  place,  besides  Emily's  gang,  is 
going  to  school !  Sister  and  I  do  most  of  the  house- 
work while  Mammy  and  Charity  are  laid  up.  Sister 
attended  to  the  bedrooms  this  morning,  while  Mett 
and  I  cleaned  up  downstairs  and  mother  washed  the 
dishes.  It  is  very  different  from  having  a  servant  al- 
ways at  hand  to  attend  to  your  smallest  need,  but  I 
can't  say  that  I  altogether  regret  the  change;  in  fact, 
I  had  a  very  merry  time  over  my  work.  Jim  Bryan 
came  in  while  I  was  sweeping  the  parlor,  to  invite 


374      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Garnett,  Mett,  and  me  to  a  party  at  his  house.  Then 
came  John  Ficklen  with  Ella  Daniel,  now  on  a  visit 
to  Minnie  Evans,  and  Anna  Robertson  and  Dr.  Cal- 
houn dropped  in  later.  I  had  my  head  tied  up  in  a 
veil  to  keep  the  dust  off,  and  a  linen  apron  round  my 
waist.  They  called  me  "  Bridget "  and  laughed  a 
great  deal  at  my  blunders  and  ignorance,  such  as  dust- 
ing the  top  shelves  first  and  flirting  the  trash  behind 
me  as  I  swept.  However,  I  will  soon  learn  better,  and 
the  rooms  really  did  look  very  nice  when  I  got  through 
with  them.  I  never  saw  the  parlor  and  library  so 
tidy.  I  was  in  high  good  humor  at  the  result  of  my 
labors,  and  the  gentlemen  complimented  me  on  them. 
I  don't  think  I  shall  mind  working  at  all  when  I  get 
used  to  it.  Everybody  else  is  doing  housework,  and  it 
is  so  funny  to  compare  our  experiences.  Father  says 
this  is  what  has  made  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  great; 
they  are  not  afraid  of  work,  and  when  put  to  the  test, 
never  shirk  anything  that  they  know  has  got  to  be 
done,  no  matter  how  disagreeable.  But  it  does  seem 
to  me  a  waste  of  time  for  people  who  are  capable  of 
doing  something  better  to  spend  their  time  sweeping 
and  dusting  while  scores  of  lazy  negroes  that  are  fit 
for  nothing  else  are  lying  around  idle.  Dr.  Calhoun 
suggested  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  import  some 
of  those  man-apes  from  Africa  and  teach  them  to  take 
the  place  of  the  negroes,  but  Henry  said  that  just  as 
soon  as  we  had  got  them  tamed,  and  taught  them  to  be 
of  some  use,  those  crazy  fanatics  at  the  North  would 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  375 

insist  on  coming  down  here  to  emancipate  them  and 
give  them  universal  suffrage.  A  good  many  people 
seem  to  think  that  the  Yankees  are  never  going 
to  be  satisfied  till  they  get  the  negroes  to  voting. 
Father  says  it  is  the  worst  thing  we  have  to  fear 
now. 

Mrs.  Bryan's  party  was  charming,  though  I  was 
too  tired  to  enjoy  the  dancing  as  much  as  usual.  Mrs. 
Bryan  gave  us  a  splendid  little  supper — the  second  one 
we  have  had  this  summer,  besides  the  few  given  at  our 
house.  Most  of  our  entertainments  are  starvation 
parties.  We  are  too  poor  to  have  suppers  often,  but 
when  we  do  get  one  we  enjoy  it  famously.  Jim  Bryan 
and  John  Ficklen  walked  home  with  Metta  and  me. 
It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  before  we  got  to  bed,  and 
then  we  were  both  too  tired  to  sleep.  My  legs  ached 
as  if  they  had  been  in  the  stocks,  but  when  I  become 
more  accustomed  to  hard  work,  I  hope  it  won't  be  so 
bad.  I  think  it  is  an  advantage  to  clean  up  the  house 
ourselves,  sometimes,  for  we  do  it  so  much  better  than 
the  negroes. 

The  children  are  having  a  great  time.  Cousin  Mary 
gave  them  a  little  party  this  evening,  and  they  have 
two  or  three  every  week.  Julia  is  a  famous  belle 
among  the  little  boys. 

Aug.  23,  Wednesday. — Up  very  early,  sweeping  and 
cleaning  the  house.  Our  establishment  has  been 
reduced  from  25  servants  to  5,  and  two  of  these 
are  sick.     Uncle  Watson  and  Buck  do  the  outdoor 


3;6      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

work,  or  rather  the  small  part  of  it  that  can  be  done 
by  two  men.  The  yard,  grove,  orchards,  vineyards, 
and  garden,  already  show  sad  evidences  of  neglect. 
Grace  does  the  washing  and  milks  the  cows,  mammy 
cooks,  and  Charity  does  part  of  the  housework,  when 
well.  Cora  has  hired  Maum  Rose,  a  nice  old  darkey 
that  used  to  belong  to  the  Dunwodys,  to  wait  on  her, 
and  she  is  a  great  help  to  us.  I  worked  very  hard  in 
the  morning  because  I  had  a  great  deal  to  do.  I  got 
through  by  ten  o'clock  and  was  preparing  for  a  nap 
when  Cousin  Liza  came  in  with  some  of  our  country 
kin,  and  immediately  after,  Mrs.  Jordan,  with  her 
sister,  two  children  and  three  servants,  came  to  spend 
the  night.  Other  people  came  in  to  dinner — I  counted 
twenty  at  table.  Charity  was  well  enough  to  wait  in 
the  dining-room,  mammy  and  Emily  did  the  cooking, 
but  Mett  and  I  had  the  other  work  to  do,  besides  look- 
ing after  all  the  company.  I  never  was  so  tired  in 
my  life;  every  bone  in  my  body  felt  as  if  it  were  ready 
to  drop  out,  and  my  eyes  were  so  heavy  that  I  could 
hardly  keep  them  open.  I  don't  find  doing  housework 
quite  so  much  of  a  joke  as  I  imagined  it  was  going  to 
be,  especially  when  we  have  company  to  entertain  at 
the  same  time,  and  want  to  make  them  enjoy  them- 
selves. By  the  way,  Mrs.  Jordan  says  I  was  right  in 
dusting  the  top  shelves  first,  so  the  laugh  is  on  the 
other  side.  After  dinner  Mrs.  Jordan  and  Mary  An- 
derson wanted  to  do  some  shopping,  and  then  we  went 
to  make  some  visits.     On  our  return  home  we  met 


C         3 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  377 

Dick  and  Emily,  with  their  children,  at  the  front  gate, 
going  out  to  begin  life  for  themselves.  All  their 
worldly  possessions,  considerably  increased  by  gifts  of 
poultry,  meal,  bacon,  and  other  provisions — enough  to 
last  them  till  they  can  make  a  start  for  themselves, 
besides  crockery  and  kitchen  utensils  that  mother  gave 
them,  had  gone  before  in  a  wagon.  Dick's  voice 
trembled  as  he  bade  me  good-by,  Emily  could  not 
speak  at  all,  and  Cinthy  cried  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  I  felt  very  much  like  crying  myself — it  was 
so  pitiful.  Poor  little  Sumter,  who  has  been  fed  every 
day  of  his  life  from  father's  own  hand,  as  regularly 
as  old  Toby  from  mine,  was  laughing  in  great  glee, 
little  dreaming  what  is  in  store  for  him,  I  fear.  Little 
Charlotte,  too,  the  baby,  who  always  came  to  me  for  a 
lump  of  sugar  or  a  bit  of  cake  whenever  she  saw  me  in 
the  kitchen,  sat  crowing  in  her  mother's  arms,  and 
laughed  when  she  held  out  her  little  fat  hand  to  tell  me 
good-by.  Poor  little  creature,  I  wonder  how  long  it 
will  be  before  her  little  shiny  black  face  will  be  pinched 
and  ashy  from  want!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  pres- 
ence of  all  those  strangers,  I  should  have  broken  down 
and  cried  outright.  Father  took  some  silver  change 
out  of  his  purse  and  placed  it  in  the  child's  hand, 
and  I  saw  a  tear  trickle  down  his  cheek  as  he 
did  so. 

Dick  has  hired  himself  out  to  do  stable  work,  and 
has  taken  his  family  to  live  in  a  house  out  at  Thomp- 
son's,  that  den   of   iniquity.     I   am  distressed   about 

25 


378      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

Cinthy,  exposed  to  such  temptations,  for  they  say  it  is 
disgraceful  the  way  those  Yankee  soldiers  carry  on 
with  the  negro  women.* 

Altogether  it  has  been  a  sad,  trying  day,  and  as  soon 
as  I  could  go  to  my  room  and  be  alone  for  awhile,  I 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  relieved  myself  by 
taking  a  good  cry,  while  Metta,  like  Rachael — refused 
to  be  comforted.  But  we  had  not  long  to  indulge  our 
feelings,  for  we  had  promised  Minnie  Evans  to  go  to 
a  dance  she  was  giving  for  Ella  Daniel,  and  we  always 
stand  by  Minnie,  though  we  would  both  a  great  deal 
rather  have  stayed  at  home.  I  was  so  tired  that  I 
made  Jim  Bryan  tell  the  boys  not  to  ask  me  to  dance. 
Mett  and  Kate  Robertson  were  in  the  same  plight,  so 
we  hid   off   in   a  corner   and   called   ourselves    "  the 


*  The  history  of  Emily  and  her  family  is  pathetically  typical  of 
the  fate  of  so  many  of  their  class.  They  multiplied  like  rats,  and 
have  dragged  out  a  precarious  existence,  saved  from  utter  sub- 
mergence through  the  charity  of  the  young  girl  whose  sympathies 
were  always  so  active  in  their  behalf — Emily  having  been  her 
nurse.  Cinthy,  whom  I  was  so  troubled  about,  and  her  next  sis- 
ter, Sarah,  happily  disappointed  my  fears  by  marrying  respectable 
negro  men  and  leading  decent  lives.  The  baby,  Charlotte,  grew 
up  a  degenerate  of  the  most  irresponsible  type,  and  became  the 
mother  of  five  or  six  illegitimate  children,  all  by  different  fathers. 
One  of  her  sons  was  hanged  for  the  "  usual  crime,"  committed 
against  a  little  white  girl — a  very  aggravated  case — and  the  record 
of  the  others  would  rival  that  of  the  Jukes  family.  The  old  peo- 
ple, Dick  and  Emily,  superannuated  and  helpless,  are  still  living 
(1908),  sheltered  and  provided  for  by  their  old  master's  daughter 
(Metta),  who  still  lives  on  a  part  of  the  Haywood  estate  and  has 
been  a  protecting  providence  to  all  of  our  poor  old  black  people 
that  are  still  living  in  the  village. 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  379 

broom-stick  brigade."  Kate  is  a  splendid  girl; 
she  takes  to  hard  work  as  immurmuringly  as  if  she 
had  been  used  to  it  all  her  life,  and  always  looks 
stylish  and  pretty,  in  the  face  of  broom-sticks  and 
dish-rags. 

Aug.  24,  Thursday. — I  had  to  be  up  early  and  clean 
up  my  room,  though  half-dead  with  fatigue.  After 
breakfast  I  went  out  again  with  Mrs.  Jordan,  and  we 
were  almost  suffocated  by  the  dust.  While  we  were 
crossing  the  square  I  received  a  piece  of  politeness 
from  a  Yankee,  which  astonished  me  so  that  I  almost 
lost  my  breath.  He  had  a  gang  of  negro  vagrants 
with  balls  and  chains,  sweeping  the  street  in  front  of 
their  quarters.  The  dust  flew  frightfully,  but  we  were 
obliged  to  pass,  and  the  Yankee  ordered  the  sweeping 
stopped  till  we  were  out  of  the  way.  I  also  saw  Capt. 
Cooley  for  the  first  time.  His  head  was  turned  away, 
so  I  took  a  good  look  at  him,  and  his  appearance  was 
not  bad  at  all — that  is,  he  would  be  a  very  good-looking 
man  in  any  other  dress  than  that  odious  Yankee  blue. 
He  is  very  anxious  to  visit  some  of  the  girls  in  Wash- 
ington, I  hear,  but  says  that  he  knows  he  would  not  be 
received.  He  saw  the  Robertson  girls  pass  his  quar- 
ters one  day,  and  said  to  some  men  standing  near: 
"  Oh,  I  wish  I  wasn't  a  Yankee !  " 

Our  friends  left  soon  after  dinner.  Mrs.  Jordan 
wanted  Mett  and  me  to  go  home  with  her  and  attend 
a  big  country  dance  at  old  Mrs.  Huling's.  We  would 
like  to  go,  but  have  no  driver,  and  could  not  leave  our 


380      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

work  at  home — to  say  nothing  of  the  state  of  our 
wardrobes.  I  had  no  time  to  rest  after  dinner,  being 
obliged  to  take  a  long  walk  on  business  and  having 
neither  carriage-driver  nor  errand-boy.  I  was  so  tired 
at  night  that  I  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  I  had  eaten  my 
supper. 

Aug.  25,  Friday. — The  Ficklens  sent  us  some  books 
of  fashion  brought  by  Mr.  Boyce  from  New  York. 
The  styles  are  very  pretty,  but  too  expensive  for  us 
broken-down  Southerners.  I  intend  always  to  dress 
as  well  as  my  means  will  allow,  but  shall  attempt  noth- 
ing in  the  way  of  finery  so  long  as  I  have  to  sweep 
floors  and  make  up  beds.  It  is  more  graceful  and 
more  sensible  to  accept  poverty  as  it  comes  than  to 
try  to  hide  it  under  a  flimsy  covering  of  false  appear- 
ances. Nothing  is  more  contemptible  than  broken- 
down  gentility  trying  to  ape  rich  vulgarity — not  even 
rich  vulgarity  trying  to  ape  its  betters.  For  my  part, 
I  am  prouder  of  my  poverty  than  I  ever  was  of  my 
former  prosperity,  when  I  remember  in  what  a  noble 
cause  all  was  lost.  We  Southerners  are  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain  of  American  society,  and  I  feel,  with  per- 
fect sincerity,  that  my  faded  calico  dress  has  a  right 
to  look  with  scorn  at  the  rich  toilettes  of  our  plun- 
derers. Notwithstanding  all  our  trouble  and  wretched- 
ness, I  thank  Heaven  that  I  was  born  a  Southerner, — 
that  I  belong  to  the  noblest  race  on  earth — for  this  is 
a  heritage  that  nothing  can  ever  take  from  me.  The 
greatness  of  the  Southern  character  is  showing  itself 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  381 

beyond  the  mere  accidents  of  time  and  fortune ;  though 
reduced  to  the  lowest  state  of  poverty  and  subjection, 
we  can  still  feel  that  we  are  superior  to  those  whom 
brute  force  has  placed  above  us  in  worldly  state. 
Solomon  says :  "  Better  is  a  living  dog  than  a  dead 
lion,"  but  I  don't  believe  it,  even  if  it  is  in  the 
Bible.* 

Aug.  27,  Sunday. — The  bolt  has  fallen.  Mr. 
Adams,  the  Methodist  minister,  launched  the  thunders 
of  the  church  against  dancing,  in  his  morning  dis- 
course. Mr.  Montgomery  wanted  to  turn  his  guns  on 
us,  too,  but  his  elders  spiked  them.  I  could  not  help 
being  amused  when  Mr.  Adams  placed  dancing  in  the 
same  category  with  bribery,  gambling,  drunkenness, 
and  murder.  He  fell  hard  upon  wicked  Achan,  who 
caused  Israel  to  sin,  and  I  saw  some  of  the  good 
brethren  on  the  "  amen  "  benches  turn  their  eyes  upon 
me.  I  was  sitting  near  the  pulpit,  under  full  fire,  and 
half-expected  to  hear  him  call  me  "  Jezabel,"  but  I  sup- 
pose he  is  reserving  his  heavy  ammunition  for  the 
grand  attack  he  is  going  to  make  next  Sunday.  The 
country  preachers  have  been  attacking  us,  too,  from  all 


*Some  idea  of  the  poverty  and  distress  to  which  our  people 
were  reduced  as  a  result  of  the  war  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact 
that  the  aggregate  wealth  of  Georgia,  estimated  at  the  last  census 
before  the  war,  was  in  round  numbers  $672,000,000,  and  at  the 
next  census  after  the  war  this  valuation  had  fallen  to  $160,000,000. 
At  present  (1907),  after  forty-five  years  of  struggle  and  effort,  the 
estimated  wealth  of  the  "Empire  State  of  the  South"  still  falls 
short  by  some  $30,000,000  of  what  it  was  in  i860. 


382      THE    WAR-TIME    JOURNAL 

quarters.  I  understand  that  some  of  them  have  given 
Washington  over  to  destruction,  and  the  country  peo- 
ple call  it  "  Sodom."  I  thought  I  should  die  laughing 
when  I  first  heard  of  this  name  being  applied  to  our 
quiet,  innocent  little  village — though  it  might  not  have 
been  such  a  misnomer  when  the  "  righteous  Lot  "  was 
in  our  midst.  It  is  a  pity  that  good,  pious  people,  as 
some  of  these  preachers  undoubtedly  are,  should  be  so 
blinded  by  prejudice.  I  wish  we  had  an  Episcopal 
Church  established  here  to  serve  as  a  refuge  for  the 
many  worthy  people  who  are  not  gamblers  and  mur- 
derers, but  who  like  to  indulge  in  a  little  dancing  now 
and  then. 

Aug.  29,  Tuesday. —  .  .  .  Capt.  Cooley  is  to 
be  removed  and  Washington  is  to  have  a  new  com- 
mander. Everybody  regrets  it  deeply,  and  the  gentle- 
men proposed  getting  up  a  petition  to  have  him  re- 
tained, but  finally  concluded  that  any  such  proceeding 
would  only  render  his  removal  the  more  certain.  I  do 
not  know  the  name  of  our  new  master,  but  they  say 
he  is  drunk  most  of  the  time,  and  his  men  are  the  ones 
that  acted  so  badly  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Rhodes,  near 
Greensborough.  One  of  Mr.  Rhodes's  "  freedmen  " 
lurked  in  the  woods  around  his  plantation,  committing 
such  depredations  that  finally  he  appealed  to  the  gar- 
rison at  Greensborough  for  protection.  The  comman- 
dant ordered  him  to  arrest  the  negro  and  bring  him  to 
Greensborough  for  trial.  With  the  assistance  of  some 
neighboring  planters,  Mr.  Rhodes  succeeded  in  making 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  383 

the  arrest,  late  one  evening.  He  kept  the  culprit  at  his 
house  that  night,  intending  to  take  him  to  town  next 
day,  but  in  the  meantime,  a  body  of  negroes  marched 
to  the  village  and  informed  the  officer  that  Mr.  Rhodes 
and  his  friends  were  making  ready  to  kill  their  pris- 
oner at  midnight.  A  party  of  bluecoats  was  at  once 
dispatched  to  the  Rhodes  plantation,  where  they  ar- 
rived after  the  family  had  gone  to  bed.  Without 
waiting  for  admission,  they  fired  two  shots  into  the 
house,  one  of  which  killed  Mrs.  Rhodes's  brother. 
They  left  her  alone  with  the  dead  man,  on  a  plantation 
full  of  insolent  negroes,  taking  the  rest  of  the  men 
to  Greensborough,  where  the  Yankees  and  negroes 
united  in  swearing  that  the  Rhodes  party  had  fired 
upon  them.  Mr.  Rhodes  was  carried  to  Augusta,  and 
on  the  point  of  being  hanged,  when  a  hitch  in  the  evi- 
dence saved  his  life.  The  Yankees  themselves  con- 
fessed to  having  fired  two  shots,  of  which  the  dead 
man,  and  a  bullet  lodged  in  the  wall,  were  proof  posi- 
tive. But  the  negroes,  not  knowing  the  importance  of 
their  admission  (for  want  of  being  properly  coached, 
no  doubt)  gave  evidence  that  only  two  shots  in  all  had 
been  fired.  When  they  found  that  it  went  against 
them,  the  Yankees  tried  to  throw  out  the  negro  evi- 
dence altogether,  but  here  Miss  Columbia's  passion  for 
her  black  paramour  balked  them.  Mr.  Rhodes's  life 
was  saved,  but  his  property  was  confiscated — when 
did  a  Yankee  ever  lose  sight  of  the  plunder? — while 
the  wretch  who  shot  his  brother-in-law  was  merely 


384      THE    WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

removed  from  Greensborough  to  another  garrison. 
This  and  the  Chenault  case  are  samples  of  the  peace 
they  are  offering  us.  Heaven  grant  me  rather  the 
horrors  of  war !     . 

[Note. — The  rest  of  the  MS.  is  missing,  the  last  pages  being 
torn  from  the  book.] 


OF   A    GEORGIA    GIRL  385 


CONCLUSION 

Here  the  record  ends,  amid  the  gloom  and  desola- 
tion of  defeat — a  gloom  that  was  to  be  followed  ere 
long  by  the  still  blacker  darkness  of  Reconstruction. 
Yet,  I  would  not  have  the  reader  draw  from  its  pages 
a  message  of  despair,  but  of  hope  and  courage  under 
difficulties;  for  disaster  cheerfully  borne  and  honor- 
ably overcome,  is  not  a  tragedy,  but  a  triumph.  And 
this,  the  most  glorious  of  all  conquests,  belongs  to  the 
South.  Never  in  all  history,  has  any  people  recovered 
itself  so  completely  from  calamity  so  overwhelming. 
By  the  abolition  of  slavery  alone  four  thousand  mil- 
lions worth  of  property  were  wiped  out  of  existence. 
As  many  millions  more  went  up  in  the  smoke  and  ruin 
of  war;  while  to  count  in  money  the  cost  of  the 
precious  lives  that  were  sacrificed,  would  be,  I  will  not 
say  an  impossibility,  but  a  desecration. 

I  do  not  recall  these  things  in  a  spirit  of  bitterness 
or  repining,  but  with  a  feeling  of  just  pride  that  I 
belong  to  a  race  which  has  shown  itself  capable  of 
rising  superior  to  such  conditions.  We,  on  this  side  of 
the  line,  have  long  since  forgiven  the  war  and  its  in- 
evitable hardships.  We  challenged  the  fight,  and  if 
we  got  more  of  it  in  the  end  than  we  liked,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  stand  up  like  men  and  take  our 


386      THE   WAR-TIME   JOURNAL 

medicine  without  whimpering.  It  was  the  hand  that 
struck  us  after  we  were  down  that  bore  hardest;  yet 
even  its  iron  weight  was  not  enough  to  break  the  spirit 
of  a  people  in  whom  the  Anglo-Saxon  blood  of  our 
fathers  still  flows  uncontaminated;  and  when  the  in- 
satiable crew  of  the  carpet-baggers  fell  upon  us  to 
devour  the  last  meager  remnants  left  us  by  the  spolia- 
tion of  war,  they  were  met  by  the  ghostly  bands  of 
"  The  Invisible  Empire,"  who  through  secret  vigilance 
and  masterful  strategy  saved  the  civilization  they  were 
forbidden  to  defend  by  open  force. 

To  conquer  fate  is  a  greater  victory  than  to  conquer 
in  battle,  and  to  conquer  under  such  handicaps  as  were 
imposed  on  the  South  is  more  than  a  victory;  it  is  a 
triumph.  Forced  against  our  will,  and  against  the 
simplest  biological  and  ethnological  laws,  into  an  un- 
natural political  marriage  that  has  brought  forth  as  its 
monstrous  offspring  a  race  problem  in  comparison  with 
which  the  Cretan  Minotaur  was  a  suckling  calf;  robbed 
of  the  last  pitiful  resource  the  destitution  of  war  had 
left  us,  by  a  prohibitory  tax  on  cotton,  our  sole  com- 
mercial product;  discriminated  against  for  half  a  cen- 
tury by  a  predatory  tariff  that  mulcts  us  at  every  turn, 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave;  giving  millions  out  of 
our  poverty  to  educate  the  negro,  and  contributing  mil- 
lions more  to  reward  the  patriotism  of  our  conquerors, 
whose  imperishable  multitudes  as  revealed  by  the  pen- 
sion rolls,  make  the  four-year  resistance  of  our  thin 
gray  bands  one  of  the  miracles  of  history;  yet,  in  spite 


OF    A    GEORGIA    GIRL  387 

of  all  this,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  path  of  our 
progress  has  been  a  thorny  one,  marked  by  many  an 
unwritten  tragedy  of  those  who,  went  down  in  the 
struggle,  too  old,  or  too  deeply  rooted  in  the  past  to 
adapt  themselves  to  new  conditions,  we  have,  as  a  peo- 
ple, come  up  out  of  the  depths  stronger  and  wiser  for 
our  battle  with  adversity,  and  the  land  we  love  has 
lifted  herself  from  the  Valley  of  Humiliation  to  a  pin- 
nacle of  prosperity  that  is  the  wonder  of  more  favored 
sections. 

And  so,  after  all,  our  tale  of  disaster  is  but  the  pre- 
lude to  a  triumph  in  which  one  may  justly  glory  with- 
out being  accused  of  vainglory.  It  is  good  to  feel  that 
you  belong  to  a  people  that  you  have  a  right  to  be 
proud  of;  it  is  good  to  feel  coursing  in  your  veins  the 
blood  of  a  race  that  has  left  its  impress  on  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  world  wherever  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  set 
his  foot.  And  to  us,  who  bore  the  storm  and  stress 
and  the  tragedy  of  those  dark  days,  it  is  good  to  re- 
member that  if  the  sun  which  set  in  blood  and  ashes 
over  the  hills  of  Appomattox  has  risen  again  in  splen- 
dor on  the  smiling  prospect  of  a  New  South,  it  is  be- 
cause the  foundations  of  its  success  were  laid  in  the 
courage  and  steadfastness  and  hopefulness  of  a  gen- 
eration who  in  the  darkest  days  of  disaster,  did  not 
despair  of  their  country. 

(i) 

THE   END 


VIVID,  MOVING,  SYMPATHETIC  HUMOROUS. 


A  Diary  from  Dixie. 

By  Mary  Boykin  Chesnut.  Being  her  Diary  from 
November,  1861,  to  August,  1865.  Edited  by  Isabella  D. 
Martin  and  Myrta  Lockett  Avary.  Illustrated.  8vo.  Orna- 
mental Cloth,  $2.50  net;  postage  additional. 

Mrs.  Chesnut  was  the  most  brilliant  woman  that  the  South 
has  ever  produced,  and  the  charm  of  her  writing  is  such  as  to 
make  all  Southerners  proud  and  all  Northerners  envious.  She  was 
the  wife  of  James  Chesnut,  Jr.,  who  was  United  States  Senator 
from  South  Carolina  from  1859  to  1 861,  and  acted  as  an  aid  to 
President  Jefferson  Davis,  and  was  subsequently  a  Brigadier-Gen- 
eral in  the  Confederate  Army.  Thus  it  was  that  she  was  intimately 
acquainted  with  all  the  foremost  men  in  the  Southern  cause. 

"  In  this  diary  is  preserved  the  most  moving  and  vivid  record  of  the  South- 
ern Confederacy  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge.  It  is  a  piece  of  social 
history  of  inestimable  value.  It  interprets  to  posterity  the  spirit  in  which  the 
Southerners  entered  upon  and  struggled  through  the  war  that  ruined  them. 
It  paints  poignantly  but  with  simplicity  the  wreck  of  that  old  world  which  had 
so  much  about  it  that  was  beautiful  and  noble  as  well  as  evil.  Students  of 
American  life  have  often  smiled,  and  with  reason,  at  the  stilted  and  extrava- 
gant fashion  in  which  the  Southern  woman  had  been  described  south  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line — the  unconscious  self-revelations  of  Mary  Chesnut  explain, 
if  they  do  not  justify,  such  extravagance.  For  here,  we  cannot  but  believe, 
is  a  creature  of  a  fine  type,  a  '  very  woman,'  a  very  Beatrice,  frank,  impetuous, 
loving,  full  of  sympathy,  full  of  humor.  Like  her  prototype,  she  had  preju- 
dices, and  she  knew  little  of  the  Northern  people  she  criticised  so  severely ; 
but  there  is  less  bitterness  in  these  pages  than  we  might  have  expected.  Per- 
haps the  editors  have  seen  to  that.  However  this  may  be  they  have  done 
nothing  to  injure  the  writer's  own  nervous,  unconventional  style— a  style 
breathing  character  and  temperament  as  the  flower  breathes  fragrance." 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"It  is  written  straight  from  the  heart,  and  with  a  natural  grace  of  style 
that  no  amount  of  polishing  could  have  imparted." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"The  editors  are  to  be  congratulated  ;  it  is  not  every  day  that  one  comes 
on  such  material  as  this  long-hidden  diary." — Louisville  Evening  Post. 

"  It  is  a  book  that  would  have  delighted  Charles  Lamb." 

— Houston  Chronicle. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


UNLIKE  ANY  OTHER  BOOK. 


A  Virginia  Girl  in  the  Civil  War. 

Being  the  Authentic  Experiences  of  a  Confederate 
Major's  Wife  who  followed  her  Husband  into  Camp  at 
the  Outbreak  of  the  War,  Dined  and  Supped  with  General 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart,  ran  the  Blockade  to  Baltimore,  and  was 
in  Richmond  when  it  was  Evacuated.  Collected  and 
edited  by  Myrta  Lockett  Avary.  nrao.  Cloth,  $1.25 
net ;  postage  additional. 

"The  people  described  are  gentlefolk  to  the  back-bone,  and  the  reader 
must  be  a  hard-hearted  cynic  if  he  does  not  fall  in  love  with  the  ingenuous 
and  delightful  girl  who  tells  the  story." — New  York  Sun. 

"  The  narrative  is  one  that  both  interests  and  charms.  The  beginning  of 
the"  end  of  the  long  and  desperate  struggle  is  unusually  well  told,  and  how 
the  survivors  lived  during  the  last  days  of  the  fading  Confederacy  forms  a 
vivid  picture  of  those  distressful  times." — Balti?nore  Herald. 

"The  style  of  the  narrative  is  attractively  informal  and  chatty.  Its 
pathos  is  that  of  simplicity.  It  throws  upon  a  cruel  period  of  our  national 
career  a  side-light,  bringing  out  tender  and  softening  interests  too  little  visi- 
ble in  the  pages  of  formal  history." — New  York  World. 

"  This  is  a  tale  that  will  appeal  to  every  Southern  man  and  woman,  and 
can  not  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  every  reader.  It  is  as  fresh  and  vivacious, 
even  in  dealing  with  dark  days,  as  the  young  soul  that  underwent  the  hard- 
ships of  a  most  cruel  war." — Louisville  Cozcrier-  Journal. 

"  The  narrative  is  not  formal,  is  often  fragmentary,  and  is  always  warmly 
human.  .  .  .  There  are  scenes  among  the  dead  and  wounded,  but  as  one 
winks  back  a  tear  the  next  page  presents  a  negro  commanded  to  mount  a 
strange  mule  in  midstream,  at  the  injustice  of  which  he  strongly  protests." — 
New  York  Telegram. 

"Taken  at  this  time,  when  the  years  have  buried  all  resentment,  dulled 
all  sorrows,  and  brought  new  generations  to  the  scenes,  a  work  of  this  kind 
can  not  fail  of  value  just  as  it  can  not  fail  in  interest.  Official  history  moves 
with  two  great  strides  to  permit  of  the  smaller,  more  intimate  events ;  fiction 
lacks  the  realistic,  powerful  appeal  of  actuality  ;  such  works  as  this  must  be 
depended  upon  to  fill  in  the  unoccupied  interstices,  to  show  us  just  what 
were  the  lives  of  those  who  were  in  this  conflict  or  who  lived  in  the  midst  of 
it  without  being  able  actively  to  participate  in  it.  And  of  this  type  'A  Vir- 
ginia Girl  in  the  Civil  War'  is  a  truly  admirable  example." — Philadelphia 
Record. 


APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK, 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR. 

The  Victory. 

By  Molly  Elliott  Seawell,  author  of  "  The 
Chateau  of  Montplaisir,"  "  The  Sprightly  Romance 
of  Marsac,"  etc.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"With  so  delicate  a  touch  and  appreciation  of  the  detail 
of  domestic  and  plantation  life,  with  so  wise  comprehension 
of  the  exalted  and  sometimes  stilted  notions  of  Southern 
honor  and  with  humorous  depiction  of  African  fidelity  and 
bombast  to  interest  and  amuse  him,  it  only  gradually  dawns 
on  a  reader  that  '  The  Victory '  is  the  truest  and  most 
tragic  presentation  yet  before  us  of  the  rending  of  home 
ties,  the  awful  passions,  the  wounded  affections  personal 
and  national,  and  the  overwhelming  questions  of  honor 
which  weighed  down  a  people  in  the  war  of  son  against 
father  and  brother  against  brother." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Among  the  many  romances  written  recently  about  the 
Civil  War,  this  one  by  Miss  Seawell  takes  a  high  place.  .  .  . 
Altogether,  'The  Victory,'  a  title  significant  in  several 
ways,  makes  a  strong  appeal  to  the  lover  of  a  good  tale." 

—  The  Outlook. 

"  Miss  Seawell's  narrative  is  not  only  infused  with  a 
tender  and  sympathetic  spirit  of  romance  and  surcharged 
with  human  interests,  but  discloses,  in  addition,  careful  and 
minute  study  of  local  conditions  and  characteristic  man- 
nerisms. It  is  an  intimate  study  of  life  on  a  Virginia 
plantation  during  an  emergent  and  critical  period  of  Amer- 
ican history." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  romances  that  make,  by  spirit  as  well  as 
letter,  for  youth  and  high  feeling.  It  embodies,  perhaps,  the 
best  work  this  author  yet  has  done." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"Aside  from  the  engaging  story  itself  and  the  excellent 
manner  in  which  it  is  told  there  is  much  of  historic  interest 
in  this  vivid  word-picture  of  the  customs  and  manners  of  a 
period  which  has  formed  the  background  of  much  fiction." 

— Brooklyn  Citizen, 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


"Daring  in  conception  and  fulfilment." 

— Boston  Herald* 

Mills  of  God. 

By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.  Illustrated.  i2ma 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  It  is  a  good  novel  in  comparison  to  even  the  best  in  current  Amer 
ican  fiction." — The  New  York  Herald. 

"The  reader  will  not  willingly  lay  aside  the  book  till  the  end  is 
reached.  The  story  is  exceedingly  well  written  and  thoroughly  well 
told." — The  Washington  Post. 

"  The  story  shows  maturity,  resource,  and  distinction.  It  combines 
the  dash  and  valor  of  the  favorite  school  of  fiction  with  the  poise,  acute- 
ness,  and  refinement  of  the  reflective  type.  It  is  compact  of  fresh, 
generous  character  creation,  appealing  and  exquisite." — Boston  Times. 

"  Her  theme  is  daring  and  delicate.  Notwithstanding,  the  final 
product  more  than  justifies  the  choice,  the  story  is  strong  and  fearlessly 
told,  the  novel  exceptional  in  finish  and  the  careful  balance  of  its  parts." 

—  The  Washington  Star. 

"  '  Mills  of  God '  is  said  to  be  a  woman's  first  novel,  and  if  this  be 
true  the  writer,  Elinor  Macartney  Lane,  has  much  to  be  proud  of.  She 
has  studied  her  art  and  has  a  serious  view  of  it.  It  is  a  well-written, 
interesting,  and  readable  novel."  — New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  She  certainly  will  be  heard  from  again  and  more  insistently.  Not 
only  for  the  pleasure  it  gives,  but  still  more  for  the  intellectual  delight 
of  watching  from  the  first  the  development  of  a  new  writer,  '  Mills  of 
God '  deserves  wide  attention.     Its  writer  is  a  coming  author." 

— New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  A  romance  of  extraordinary  charm  and  carries  its  absorbing  story 
along  with  triumphant  decision.  The  ideals  of  the  book  are  high,  and 
the  romance  is  too  gallant  to  leave  the  mind  of  the  reader  in  a  depressed 
condition." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  A  brilliant  romance  of  Virginia  ;  a  deftly  woven  tale,  with  passion's 
power  for  good  and  evil  as  its  theme.  Mrs.  Lane  has  a  vivacious,  spir- 
ited, graphic  way  of  telling  a  story  and  portraying  character.  Her 
dialogue  has  an  air  of  life,  and  is  even-pointed  and  piquant.  She  has 
pictured  with  power,  yet  with  delicacy  and  reserve,  the  dawn  of  a  great 
passion,  the  futile  struggle  against  it,  and  the  surrender." 

— Chicago  Record- Herald. 

"A  mighty  good  romance.  The  characters  are  complex  human 
beings,  instead  of  lay-figures  for  the  display  of  ready-made  chivalry, 
and  one  remembers  both  them  and  their  history  after  laying  down  the 
book." — Life. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


